Pinkness in Paradise

Paradise being my own back yard, of course. This summer, with high gas prices and many work and social obligations, we are taking what has come to be known as a “Staycation.” Plenty of time to relish things I might ordinarily take for granted, such as the reappearance of the sole remaining hollyhock that blooms year after year. Somebody forgot to tell this gigantic specimen that it’s supposed to bloom every other year. The back patio under the shade of the pergola has become my private little oasis, and if the pool ever heats up we will use it.

That is, if the smoke ever dissipates from Northern California’s terrible fires. I begged off meeting a friend to walk this morning because, when I went outside early to pick up the newspapers, the smell of smoke hung in the air like cheap aftershave splashed on by a heavy-handed teenage boy hoping to impress his favorite girl. I didn’t spend ten years taking asthma meds for nothing. No power walk for me.

Before returning inside to get started on my Big Secret knitting for the morning, I snapped these reminders that pink is good.

Sometimes, pink is very good. And sometimes, it’s just pristine.

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