Rain and Metaphysics

We had another really good rain yesterday. I tried to make a video but most of it came late in the evening when it was already too dark. I swear I could hear the plants almost singing with joy.

The rain is tough on our red-hot pokers (above), which tend to flop over with the weight of the water.

We're still getting new flowers on our dahlias. They can range from bright red to light orange, depending on their age and which plant produced them. (These seed-grown dahlias are all the same variety, "Bishop's children.")

I was walking Olga on Saturday morning when I found this plant (above), as well as some empty pots, sitting on the curb next to someone's rubbish bins. The plant looked terrible -- its leaves were rolled up as tight as cigarettes. I brought it home, watered it and put it in a shady spot, and over a couple of days it has opened up. We'll see how it does in the long term. I think it's a variety of prayer plant.

This is a variegated geranium I picked up at the store at the beginning of summer. I love the colorful leaves.

This is our mystery tree, which we replanted to the back of the garden six months ago. It's done well after the transplant and we think we've figured out what it is -- Prunus cerasifera, or cherry plum. (It's one of the purple varieties, obviously.)

The Japanese anemones are blooming, always a sign for us that it's time to go back to school.

I took Olga to the Heath yesterday. She was quite insistent on going, actually, and basically led the way. We had a good long walk and then on the way home we were joined by a random guy who approached me on the street and asked, as an opener, "Do you believe life is an act?" I thought, Oh lord, who's this lunatic. He was wearing a cross and I thought he was going to proselytize. I said, "I'm not sure I believe that." Undaunted, he walked with us, talking about sentient plants and the psychic Ingo Swann and remote viewing and some other stuff -- but never Jesus. I just nodded and responded as little as possible, and was beginning to wonder if I would ever get rid of him when he kept going toward our high street as I turned toward home. Thank goodness.