The title of this post was inspired by a recurring event — our spring show - which was held last weekend; Friday morning was, as always, blustering with snow and attitude. All of us staggered to steer canvases which had transformed themselves into sails; a few tried to tack into the wind with little success. Hours later, we tottered back out. So “going to a hanging” has a desperate air, whatever you deem it it to mean.
But the wind has circled south and today is sunny and hot. Just as old friends materialized over the weekend to give their precious support, my garden is unearthing its own batch of significant others. Witnessing the haze of blue scylla emerge is one of my other rites of spring. Despite my best intentions, I ALWAYS give up and finally lie prone on the ground; a coat of mud seems to be the prerequisite of nailing a good closeup of these hardy darlings. While I theoretically know who lives in our garden, the annual miracle is that they return so faithfully. Like good friends to a show. Thanks.
P.S. Apparently apologies are in order to those perennials who mysteriously did not receive an invitation this year. I did send them but wonder if they might have been flagged as spam and are lurking in your dungeon. I find the strangest things in mine. I had best watch my wording, lest an invitation read too much like a Viagra ad. (Too much enthusiasm?)