After church last Sunday, I purchased a small container plant in my old Oakland neighborhood. The weather was quite hot, over 90 F. The person outside the hardware store was busy watering the sparse remaining stock. The specimen in question is a little rosemary plant in a two-inch pot, which I repotted into a larger clay pot. It now sits in front of the door, in cosy proximity to the tiny olive tree, that my son Christian gave me. “Creeping rosemary” — the label informs. Indeed it tells the truth — having watered it every day this past week, my little culinary friend has already breached the rim of the clay pot it resides in. In my old loft in Oakland, I planted a rosemary bush just about the same size as my present one in the ground, and it grew to over four feet in all directions — a haven for bees when it bloomed.
Staying on the subject: taking a short walk recently, I saw a small garden, where the gardener had staked several signs in the ground: the first one read — there is never enough thyme, and a second one stated: “weeds” — a gardener with a lovely sense of humor. I hope a bird drops a flower seed — or two, into the “weeds” planter box. Nearing the corner of the lot, I noticed a warning sign that stated unequivocally: “Area patrolled by Schnauzer” — this however, I was not able to confirm visually — perhaps he, or she, was taking a nap.
Have a blessed peaceful week, in Jesus name, Amen.