MinxterBLOOM

Backyard tableau: all the foxglove in the yard are shades of pink. The swing is primed and shall be painted next week. I am thinking lavender-wash grey. Furniture in the shade wants light tones. The electric-lemony green of last year was too upstart a shade.

In the foreground are two Francis Williams hosta clumps, ringed by the reliable but stolid green lirope. Ivy is about to consume the swing set. Sigh. Shall get on that right away.
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I Taste A Liquor Never Brewed

I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!

Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.

When the landlord turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove's door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!

Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun! -- E. Dickinson