The beauty of a spring flower

The beauty of one of our first orange roses
of the Spring season.

And Spring arose on the garden fair,

Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;

And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast

rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, "The Sensitive Plant"

The pleasure of our gardens, part 21

The fading beauty of our first First Prize rose of the season.

It is said that true friendship is like a rose. We can't realize its beauty until it fades.

Fortunately, most of our new roses bloom for about a week ~ sometimes longer, occasionally less ~ before their beauty fades. Luckily, their memories live on through my photographs of our beautiful flowers.

Although half the interest of a garden is the constant exercise of the imagination, so it has been said, I am happy to inform you that our flower beds are full of color as we near the middle of spring.

First Prize rose

White rose

Pristine rose

In little more than a week, thanks to our recent surge in sunshine and warmer temperatures, we have welcomed first blooms of our First Prize, Pristine, white and orange roses in our backyard garden of our San Francisco Bay Area residence. And, our iris bed has produced more than a dozen beautiful purple and white blooms, too.

Purple and white iris

Soon, we expect to greet our first Mr. Lincoln, Queen Elizabeth and All That Jazz rose blooms, too.

Indeed, I am a believer of this bit of gardening wisdom, courtesy of Robert Brault: "I cultivate my garden and my garden cultivates me."

Yes, my dear friends, it's a very exciting time to be a gardener.

All photographs by Michael Dickens, copyright 2012. 

In our garden on this afternoon

Rainbow colored rose / A rose by any other name ...

It is said that a rose is a rose is a rose ...

First Prize rose

And, yet, said the French artist Henri Matisse:  "There is nothing more difficult for a truly creative painter than to paint a rose, because before he can do so he has first to forget all the roses that were ever painted."

White rose

I would like to think that the same could be said for photographing roses, too.  After all, no two roses are the same shape or color.

Orange rose

Here's to the colorful roses in our backyard garden. ... Cheers.

All photographs by Michael Dickens, taken in my backyard garden on September 19, 2011. Copyright 2011.

The pleasure of our gardens, part 19

The pleasure of our gardens ...

Rainbow colored rose 

White rose

First Prize rose

First Prize rose

Orange rose

Queen Elizabeth roses

... is what's on my mind this summer.

I've been thinking a lot about a quote I recently came across attributed to the late author Leo Buscaglia.

"A single rose can be my garden ... a single friend, my world."

One beautiful thought summed up in 12 simple words.

Such beauty, love and kindness.

Indeed, it's the pleasure of our gardens.

All photographs by Michael Dickens. Copyright June and July 2011.

Random musings about morning fog, our rose garden, French Roast coffee and Elvis Costello

As I opened the front door this morning at precisely 6:30 a.m. to bring in the New York Times, I couldn't help but notice the weather surrounding our cul-de-sac:  It was very foggy outside. The accumulated dew on the newspaper's plastic wrapper, laying idle for a couple of hours on our front steps, spoke volumes.

The fog's impact reduced visibility surrounding our house to the length of a football pitch.  It was just another typical, late-summer morning shaping up in the Bay Area.

Orange rose with morning dew
on petals and leaves

Not surprisingly, the Bay Area forecast for today predicted morning fog, then mostly cloudy skies.  Although our high is supposed to reach 70 by this afternoon, I have my doubts. Something about a trough of low pressure moving through northern California that's bringing cooler conditions to the Bay Area. I've become all too accustomed to cool, moderate summer temperatures living in the Bay Area for the past 15 years. While I would welcome a 70-degree, late-summer afternoon, now, I'll happily settle for the 65-degree temperature that is due San Francisco today, where the fog is legendary throughout the summer months.

Pristine rose

The upside to today's morning fog and lingering dew is two-fold:  The overnight accumulation of dew and moisture means I don't need water the lawn and plants as planned, and, just as pleasing, it makes for good conditions to take photographs of our roses.

Mr. Lincoln rose:
Lovely to look at,
but difficult to photograph.

When I stepped outside to our backyard garden, I witnessed the dew on many of the roses, including their petals and their leaves.  The lingering fog and dew makes observing them interesting, but it's also very challenging to accurately capture it in a photograph. Ditto for the rich redness of the Mr. Lincoln roses ~ lovely to look at in person, but difficult to achieve the right hue of red when taking a picture.

Standing among giants:
I'm 5-feet-10 and
shorter than our
Mr. Lincoln and
Queen Elizabeth
rose bushes.

In the past month, we've let both our Queen Elizabeth and Mr. Lincoln rose bushes grow.  Nothing magical about it, and yet, they've have grown quite tall ~ taller than me, and I'm 5-feet-10.  Both of these bushes continue to show great blooms in September. Ditto for our Orange rose bush and our First Prize bush, too.

With autumn less than a week away and October close, our weather, finally, will perk up ~ if only for a few weeks.  With it, there's promise that our roses can continue enjoying some additional happiness and further growth, too.

In the meantime, as I await the fog to lift and the mercury rise, I'll gather my thoughts about the pleasure of our garden, savor a warm cup of my favorite French Roast coffee, and listen attentively as Elvis Costello sings about "Shipbuilding," from his 1983 album, Punch the Clock, appreciating the mournful, lovely trumpet solo by Chet Baker that accompanies some of Costello's most poignant lyrics, written during Britain's build up to the 1982 war with Argentina over the Falkland Islands.  Different times.

Morning becomes eclectic.