I suppose it's the fervor of summer that brings romance to the air. The sun warms everything from cocoons to blossoms, revealing eager butterflies and colorful flowers.
I come home from vacation to find much progress in the gardens. As a stunt, played by a jealous jester, I swear the weeds grew in generous proportions to the time away.
I must admit. June is bounteous.
Longer days. Warmer temperatures. Enticing color palates. Not to lack mention of the bountiful floral fragrances because to do so would seem an obvious omission.
You get it. The list is long.
It appears this plot to seduce me to the outside works.
How can I resist?
Like romance, it's alluring.
I gather the camera and slip into sandals.
Before I even consider what is happening, I fall prey to summer's spell. He knew I would. The bright ones are continually cultivating plots. All the while, tending their seeds.
The warm sun is not shy either; provoking me to linger longer and longer.
With proof that I overstay, I eventually return to the house with twenty-three images.
It's funny the way this happens, time-and-time again.
Like an adolescent lost in the trance of her first love affair, I am unable to explain why or how it takes longer than it should. On the other hand, what is the hurry anyway?
The flowers do return each year; perhaps in varying shapes, sizes, and positions but I can accept this.
In likeness, love returns, as well.
The motivation for this happy life never ceases to amaze.
I choose to remain a girl servant to this ever-evolving, never-uninteresting life. Because it is true, amidst quiet patience and genuine intentions, all things are possible.