Even in Alberta.
My idea of beginning each day the right way is to take an early morning walk in Centennial Park, where I have been seeing the cottonwood trees, their branches loaded with soft white wool and the ground beneath them looks as though it has had a summer snowstorm brush along its path.
But my own yard is different.
No summer storm of cottonwood fluff here.
I am having the pay-off from planting a peony bush twenty years ago, and then watching it mature every year.
Now I pick 10 blossoms like this every day, and in two days there are another ten in bloom and so on.
The tables and counters upstairs and downstairs are full of bouquets.
As well, a few summers ago, fearing that I might not get out to the lake in time to enjoy the daisies each year, I tucked some seeds into an envelope and brought them back to Alberta, spreading them alongside my driveway in a dry, gravelly and seemingly infertile place.
I am still going to have the best of both worlds, though the time when there is a large lake added to the mix is coming a little later this year.
I cannot imagine why the best part of my day was going to the bottle depot.
I don't know if it is the pleasure of recycling with a cash payout, or if I like the trip because I imagine myself on the other side of the counter, twisting the caps off of bottles or showing customers which plastic food containers can be recycled and which ones can't be recycled.
Today the sounds of the 7 cubicles, each with glass and tin crashing against each other, made me wonder why a musician has not added those sounds to a modern composition, ... the title "Opus 1: Local Bottle Depot" doesn't sound concert worthy, I admit.
Still, I stood there wondering if I would add some pizzicato violins and a sonorous cello melody to go with the sharp, crackling timpani I was hearing
By the time I had dumped 4 or 5 garbage bags of assorted pop cans and wine bottles onto the counter, and helped unscrew the bottle caps or placed the containers in their correct boxes, I was also wondering why only a few of the workers wear gloves that protect their hands from broken glass for without gloves.
I do the work carefully and more slowly than they do and still come away with a few scratches.
My hands are still wet with that syrupy, sticky feeling, long after I have the cash in my purse.
On a day when the sun is so hot, I can feel my palms sticking to the steering wheel as I turn the corner, and I am still thinking of a melody to attach to the bottle depot.
Arta
Have you seen Stomp yet? Your post reminded me of how much more intune I was with the sound of steps on the stairwell as the crowd left than when I had entered and not noticed the percussive pattern at all.
ReplyDeleteYour comment about the cottonwood tree wool reminds me of the foam at the base of the Sicamous Falls that looked like a set of 7 tiny glaciers trading turns at being the leader. Can they just be water, air and tiny debri creating such a heavy looking floating structure?
Great daisy photo. What a great idea to plant some daisies in Calgary. Shall I send you back with a Salmonberry seeds on your next trip? I am wondering if the Lupins Glen fostered on the hill behind his house could replace the Ferns and Salmonberries on your slope facing the creek. They seem to be lower bushes and although they bloom early (June) they are amazing!
Now that I know how long that Peonie bush takes to bloom, I am less worried about the one in your front garden out here and am greatful for the one blossom we got on the side garden. The lilies continue to be stunning.