I'll start off with the tree damage we got the other night when I was bemoaning the power outages from the straightline winds of 70 mph that passed over us, thankfully doing not much more than blow a few shingles off the roof, and chew up this silver maple:
Below are a few shots of a morning glory that volunteered from seed. It's an old heirloom variety known as Grampa Ott, and is a bit more purply than shows in these. He's rambling all over my front bed this year, and the heat hasn't seemed to faze his antique ass. Two years ago when I gently nurtured him from a wee sprout tenderly started indoors in the depths of winter, he refused to do anything but get spider mites and die. I guess he's more a free bird sort of morning glory:
He's even rambling over the purslane in my container garden:
Finally, some of the cannas are starting to rebloom.They're a bit bedraggled from all the heat and an unfortunate lack of care due to my hatred of going outside when the temps replicate the seventh circle of hell, but they're taking no prisoners anyway.
This one, Burning Ember, is one of my favorites for it's almost surreal orange tones--and this is after I turned the saturation DOWN :
If you're wondering what those long metal structures are in my neighbor's yard along the fence, they're her two loafing sheds for her horses, Pecos and Renegade, shown here helping with the mowing near the mimosa killed by this summer's heat:
These are some of the baby cows my mutt was chasing on the property behind us. Mother is not in evidence today; she may have already become someone's dinner.
Those of you who are real photographers, thanks for bearing with me, as my gifts definitely do not extend in this direction. However, I hope everyone benefited from the wholesome exercise involved in getting out and communing with the garden, however vicarious.
Regularly scheduled poetry programming will resume shortly.