The mist is a riddle of water on leaves.

Los Angeles in spring is all jasmine and wisteria  blooming, dripping purple over the garden. Our tea garden is growing well, but the herbs are few and the salsa garden has only slender sprigs.  When we arrived at the house, the mist was falling on the wisteria and the whole house smelled like jasmine, the bloom of it thick on the night air, the mint damp and smelling thick and green.  I was glad to see the chickens, laying their eggs, the dogs running through the night air.  My own bed felt so good.  Travel opens the mind, but home is where you lay down and feel content.  When you sleep in other beds, your sleep is imperfect.

 

The mist is a riddle of water on leaves.  Everything is growing now in the fields and on the mountains.  Tomorrow I go to the PEN awards in New York and then to Nashville for our sales conference.  The orange tree is in full blossom.  The flowers fall to the ground slowly and make little flips before they land on the garden.  A dance of orange blossoms in the tangle of mint mist.

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Published in: on March 26, 2017 at 8:14 pm  Leave a Comment  

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