Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Verbena Hill







This morning I'm off to the hollow with Barley, our Golden Retriever, at my heels, my Nikon D90 over my shoulder, and tripod under my arm.  

The trail to the hollow is through the woods and dotted with wildflowers, but I don't stop now, or Barley will be headed home without me. We cross the hollow, now a dry creek bed, and head for the opposite hillside, which is covered with verbena and new mullein, their velvety leaves covered with dew. 

Verbena's fragrance reminds me of cloves, and we catch it on the breeze long before we arrive. The flowers are beautiful in the shade. I put on my gloves and pick up some downed sticks and branches from last year's ice storm, and soon the first sun rays light the verbena with a lavender glow. I feel like I'm visiting a garden laid out by a Master Gardener, and indeed I am.

I hate to leave this place, but the drawing board is calling. Barley races home ahead of me.


Great are the works of the Lord; 
they are pondered by all who delight in them.
Psalm 111:2


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