"Glory Be!" 24 x 36 glaze oil on canvas It is one of those perfect summer days. Rain might arrive overnight, but for now the sky is clear and the meadow is full of butterflies supping on the tall buttercups. I have parked myself here, decked out in camera, sunglasses, brimmed hat, binoculars, and field guides. Alas, no use. Although I can readily identify black admirals and tiger swallowtails, the multitudinous "skippers" (those small orange butterflies which flit every which way) all look alike to me. I have somewhat better luck with the damsel-flies, a more delicate variation of dragonflies; their wings come together on their backs when resting, and their bodies are slim and often jewel-toned. My favourites have gleaming turquoise bodies and ebony wings. They too have congregated here to eat, although they must be looking for smaller prey than the skippers because they dart towards them and then veer away at the last second. Or maybe six-leggers also indulge in the odd game of of "Chicken."
The scarlet runners I planted about ten days ago in memory of my maternal grandmother are six inches tall already so I'm on the hunt for the curly garden stakes I hid away so cunningly last fall. Even the dark blue pansies continue to thrive, as long as I remember to deadhead them frequently; their little faces beg to be painted, so I do. Maybe I will plant some blue morning glory seeds too. these ones, backlit by last August's afternoon sun, proved irresistibly paintable.
The scarlet runners I planted about ten days ago in memory of my maternal grandmother are six inches tall already so I'm on the hunt for the curly garden stakes I hid away so cunningly last fall. Even the dark blue pansies continue to thrive, as long as I remember to deadhead them frequently; their little faces beg to be painted, so I do. Maybe I will plant some blue morning glory seeds too. these ones, backlit by last August's afternoon sun, proved irresistibly paintable.
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