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Yesterday’s Garden

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I also took a few pictures of yesterday’s garden, but I delayed the posting of them until today. I gathered more than my fair share of mosquito bites over the weekend. I’m not sure why I don’t remember from year to year that mosquitos and hardy hibiscus peak at the same time. You’d think I’d remember to dig out the insect repellent once the buds on my hibiscus bush are heavy with flower buds.

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Garden, June 24

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I let the flowers riot in my yard because I need them. I need their persistent beauty, their outrageous blooming. There is enough order in their madness to be my oasis.

Outside the garden, there are curious scenes. I will be getting another epidural injection this week. My mother has lost her mind again. To be a part of my family is to ride that wheel of fire that signals it’s time to lose and find yourself once again.

I’ve discovered that someone I know speaks in partial fiction when she talks about her personal life and there isn’t much point in piercing this illusion. After all, her private business is just that. Still, there is a question that nags at the mind, why bother talking about something if the things cited as facts are not true? There must be a motive, and it’s hard not to wonder what it is. There’s a quality to the situation that easily provokes one’s inner Gladys-the-nosy-neighbor from Bewitched.

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