Tuesday, August 30, 2011

The Pumpkin After The Storm

We survived the hurricane with very little damage. A few branches down...that's it. In the meantime, my garden has gone to the dark side. It has escaped the confines on my little white fence, and is now spilling over onto the sidewalk. Morning glories, tomatoes, and gigantic pumpkin vines are all living in peace and harmony, like some crazed mutant plant. I even have mini pumpkins developing on the sidewalk....

I am expecting that at some point, a person who is walking his dog will see the insane pumpkin patch and start helping himself to the cornucopia. Free pumpkins for everyone!

My mom's visit is over. ☹ We have enjoyed apple picking, shopping, a visit to the plant nursery, and looking over old photo albums....

School starts in about a week....woo hoo! I'm sad to see summer vacation over, but I'll be glad to get back to writing. Here is a tiny snippet of a botanically-inspired paranormal romance I am writing called L'Araldo Di Primavera....enjoy!

Twenty years ago....

            When Flora LaGuarda was five years old, she discovered an overgrown, weed-infested garden hidden behind her Papa's tool shed. A rusty gate creaked open as she approached, which she found quite welcoming and polite. Vines of bittersweet tugged at her anklets and milkweed pods exploded, showering her with silky fluff. She touched a thorny rose, and all at once the baby buds swelled, then burst, releasing a heady fragrance. Within seconds magenta blooms weighed heavily on the bush, the lush flower heads nodding in the sunshine. Flora turned to find Papa behind her, leaning thoughtfully on a rake.
            "Hmm," he said.
            "Hmm," she replied.
            He pulled off his faded Red Sox cap and scratched the small scrub of hairs on the top of his head. "Well, looks like you got a green thumb, Flora LaGuarda. Just like your Grandma." He slapped the hat across one thigh, dislodging a cloud of dust, then set it back on his head and nodded to her. "Time for lunch."
            Flora ran out of the garden, leaving a path of lush green growth in her wake. The gate banged shut behind her, and a clump of moss fell from the sign at the top. L'Araldo di Primavera it read.