Slug's-eye view

 Sunlight through big hosta leaves:

With raindrops.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

El sol ilumina las hojas de mis hostas, vistas desde abajo. Con gotitas de lluvia.

Curves and lines

Hosta leaves, from ground level.

All the colours of green.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

El follaje de Hosta, desde el nivel de la tierra, mostrando sus múltiples tonos de verde.

Morning light

This time of year, the morning sun shines on my deep shade garden briefly, spotlighting here and there for a moment, then moving on. If I'm quick, I can even get a photo or two.

Two steps from my door. Clematis, Dutchman's breeches, London Pride, and distant rhododendrons.

And when the sun has moved elsewhere for the rest of the day, there's always flash.

Clematis, with flash.

A spray of yellow buttons

In my shady garden.

Red and white columbine.

Last year, this plant produced two whole flowers. This year, it's loaded. That's the beauty of perennials; if they don't thrive this year, there's always next. With no work involved. (Weeding and watering and feeding and cultivating don't count as work; they're just an excuse to hang around outside and get my hands dirty.)

Statues

When I was a kid, oh so many centuries ago, we used to play a game that we called Statues. (Here it is called "Swing the Statue", which is probably a better name.

One player is chosen to be "it." He or she takes each of the other players in turn and, holding them by a wrist or hand, swings them in a circle and then lets them go. The swung player must freeze as soon as possible and hold that position as long as possible. The first player to break the freeze becomes "it." Since the first player swung must hold the position longest, begin with the oldest child first. The entertainment value comes from seeing the strange positions that players end up in and watching them try to hold those positions. (From About.com.)

This grey squirrel would be good at the game. She froze in place at the first click of the camera's mirror lifting, even through the closed door, and held the pose until I tired of waiting for her to come closer. I moved first; she won the round.

"If I don't move, she won't see me."

Worth a second look

Gardens should be approached on our knees. So we don't miss things like this:

Flower unfolding from its bud

Comes in blue and lilac, with pin-stripes

I've forgotten what plant this was; it got transplanted by mistake with a batch of primulas. Once the flowers are completely open, I may remember.

UPDATE: It's a Himalayan Blue Poppy, Meconopsis baileyi.

Making their own sunshine

Nasturtiums: they're not supposed to bloom in deep shade. But these ones forgot that rule.

Facing what little sun shows up in the afternoon

This basket doesn't even get that. A few stray rays, maybe, some mornings.

Afternoon sun, with mirror

Just because

Their week to shine.

In my deep shade garden, the beginning of summer almost seems like an ending. The Dutchman's breeches are long gone; so are the primulas and bleeding hearts and bergenias. I deadheaded the last of the rhododendrons last week. The columbine is still holding on to its last two small flowers, but they're fading.

And the hydrangea is barely starting to get some blue around the edges. The garden rests for a spell. Except for the hanging baskets -bacopas, nasturtiums, begonias and lobelias, (and those are cheating, because I bought the plants already thriving this spring) - the perennial part of the garden is a study in greens, nice to look at, but a bit uninspiring.

And then the astilbes burst into glorious flower; so very welcome! It's been windy, and the feathery spikes wave enthusiastically, calling pollinators, "Here we are, come, come! Soup's on!"

Almost red. This is a smaller plant, with only one spike this year, but the colour makes up for it.

And there's a large clump of these, tall and mobile, swaying together to inaudible music. Two days ago, they were all a greenish white; now the tiny flower heads are opening.