Inside a tulip

Beach walks, reading time, good food, relaxing, family/grandson time. Life is good. I hope yours is too.

FOTD 6.3.22

Friday flowers…tulips are better than one

 

Friday flowers…tulips

Philadelphia is ahead of Chicago in the season, so I was thrilled to see all the plants in bloom.  I loved these ragged-edged tulips.

Friday flowers…going, going….

“I love tulips better than any other spring flower; they are the embodiment of alert cheerfulness and tidy grace, and next to a hyacinth look like a wholesome, freshly tubbed young girl beside a stout lady whose every movement weighs down the air with patchouli. Their faint, delicate scent is refinement itself; and is there anything in the world more charming than the sprightly way they hold up their little faces to the sun. I have heard them called bold and flaunting, but to me they seem modest grace itself, only always on the alert to enjoy life as much as they can and not be afraid of looking the sun or anything else above them in the face.”
― Elizabeth von Arnim, Elizabeth and Her German Garden

Sunshine on a stalk

My husband got me flowers for my birthday, the best kind: beautiful and inexpensive.  They lasted for almost two weeks then, while at Aldi not long ago, I scored potted flowers on sale for $1.99, Easter leftovers of tulips and hyacinths, bulbs that can go outdoors once their indoor season is over.  Today, as the several inches of snow melted away in the afternoon, I spent a bit of time with phone and camera, reveling in the bright, cheerful colors.

 

 

Wandering Wednesday

Our wanderings take us to Philadelphia  for the weekend (with an overnight stop in Akron, Ohio on the way), so I’ll be MIA until Monday, although I might be on Instagram.  Just to tide you over, here are some beautiful blooms from my visit to Descanso Gardens.  Have a wonderful rest of the week and weekend.

Yellow

But I have always thought that these tulips must have had names. They were red, and orange and red, and red and orange and yellow, like the ember in a nursery fire of a winter’s evening. I remember them.

Neil Gaiman