With the long-overdue rain we had over the weekend, the front yard is abloom.
Fall Asters, Purple Trailing Lantana, Russian Sage, and even Mealy Blue Sage have exploded in purples that complement the yellow and oranges of the rest of the yard. And those yellows and oranges have found new vigor, evidently casting aside the seed-making on which they had become focused in favor of new buds and blossoms.
Because it had rained.
When I stepped out of the car in the driveway after getting home from school, a Monarch butterfly flittered about my head. I shouted in glee to Trudy who said they had been all over the yard all day.
Let’s be clear, the demise of Monarchs is so complete that a single butterfly is cause for celebration these days. Just one.
Yet there we were, standing by the curb with the yellows and oranges and purples spread before us. And swirling among the blossoms or sitting on a flower stretching their wings was a host of Monarchs. Ok, six of them maybe a dozen, or maybe more. Who’s to check my figures?
It was enough to make our hearts explode, the Monarchs landing here for a moment and then fluttering there. Gathering nectar, perhaps. Because it’s a long way to Mexico.