My place to be...

What an amazing, joyful moment of the day is, when I get to go out to the front porch and sit under the sizzling hours of mid afternoon, to just be... to only listen to the familiar sounds of summer, the songs of birds, and the high-pitch hum of cicadas.

Did you know that cicadas start to emerge only after a 17-year wait to mate?  And where was I 17 years ago when, here, on these same woods and trees this brood of cicadas was already waiting for 'today'?  Nature certainly never ceases to amaze me.

The Annabelle hydrangeas have grown more, and expanded beyond themselves even more this year.   Unlike the blue and pink hydrangeas, Annabelle blooms every year even after a severe pruning and intensely cold winters. The huge, white drumstick blooms appear in profusion without fail every summer.

Had I known how reliable these flowers are and how much I'd loved them, I would had planted them as a hedge in front of the holly bushes by our front porch, where instead I chose to plant that row of Iceberg roses, which have never done well, and have always adopted that spindly, leggy appearance since the very beginning.

This afternoon I went outside and collected bunches of hydrangeas to make bouquets... 

It was hot, but under the canopies of trees that protrude from the woods it felt comfortable and tepid and I found myself mystified by the sounds of summer, and the dark emerald shades of the woods, quiet and timing with life as they are.  

This is what I love about summer, the strength and vigor of it.  The being wild and slow, old and yet growing young buds of dreams. For me, it is a magic that must be written in the old pages of my soul. We are all wanderers on this earth, and my heart is full of wonder, and my soul deep with dreams...

I wake up every morning and go to work, and miss those magical hours of my days... at 8:00, and 9:00 and then again mid morning around 10:00 in the little white cottage.  I miss my home, being able to enjoy my freedom... miss my feathery friends; the fishes in the pond, the squirrels and their shenanigans around the garden and the mystifying sounds of the woods... even at the office, my heart is silently the one with the messy hair, the dirty feet and that wild sparkle in its eyes... 

Even with the huge amount of mosquitoes and insects that come with this wild, hot humid life of the south, I'm still so much in love with my garden. Love our little white cottage and its quiet surroundings, love the peace I find here, always welcoming and comforting...

The minute I enter this door, I am at peace with my soul again... 

“I felt a pang -- a strange and inexplicable pang that I had never felt before.  It was homesickness.  Now, even more than I had earlier when I'd first glimpsed it, I longed to be transported into that quiet little landscape, to walk up the path, to take a key from my pocket and open the cottage door, to sit down by the fireplace, to wrap my arms around myself, and to stay there forever and ever.” ― Alan Bradley, The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag