Yesterday's mushroom

The rain stopped. The sun came out. The puddles dried up. So I went out and picked the mushroom from yesterday's photo, and brought it in to Laurie, sitting in the shade, watching new leaves dance in the wind.

Looks tasty. Smells good, too.

The gills have the colour and texture of dried apple slices.

Just another unintended resident in the hospital garden. And there's a whole patch of them, coming along nicely.

Rainy afternoon, with mushroom

... In the hospital garden.

Red leaves, and sky-coloured flowers. And one mushroom.

Just another lost hospital visitor

Hospitals are for humans. Multi-legged critters are not invited. But somehow, this western conifer seed bug found his way in, down the hallways, through automatic doors, around corners. And couldn't find his way back.

"Which way is the exit?"

We found him in a sunny window, on the sill. I took a couple of photos before my battery died. So instead, I picked him up and let him wander around my hand. After a bit of exploring, he flew off, smacked into the window, and dropped to the sill where we had found him.

He was all tangled up in threads and dust; no telling how long he'd been roaming, looking for a way out.

So I picked him up and carried him carefully around those corners, through those doors, down the Garden Walk, to the door to the outside. And he flew off my hand, up and away over the garden wall.

Not a prickly pear

In the new planters that make up the "garden" in the hospital's "Garden Walk", the gardeners' choices - native salal and white azaleas - are struggling. The soil is too dry; the spring rains evaporated quickly in the warm weather. Salal, especially, is a rainforest plant, and thrives on cool, dripping cliff faces. Only one of the azaleas has managed to produce flowers: two small flowers.

Tiny Drabas are pinch-hitting; each planter holds several, all blooming merrily. No water? No problem! Morning dew will do; or last night's brief fog.

Draba sp. One of 400+. White, four-petalled flowers, long, purplish siliques. 

Most of the leaves are basal. And very hairy.

Those white blobs looked interesting. Zooming in: 

A white, plastic-looking foam. Under the microscope, they're the same; blobs of foam, some with a torn top.

And look at that prickly pear imitation! No wonder whoever added that white stuff chose the underside of the leaf!

They call it the "Garden Walk"

Along one of the passages from building to building in the hospital complex, they've put a few planters against a wall in an outdoor space, some comfortable chairs just inside the window, and behind it all, fake windows with bright birds and flowers. I spend too much time there, but there's always a little camera in my bag...

Bare tree, green leaves, and strange shadows after sunset.

The planters, shadows, and a reflection of fantastic flowers.

There are more hospital photos of the "going stir crazy" variety, in a Facebook album, here.

Same scene, new day

There comes a day, after a rough spell when life has been a struggle, that I look out and discover that the world is new again, that the birds still sing, and the sun still shines.

Today was that day. Laurie is stronger. The skies were blue, the breeze warm. I got Laurie into a wheelchair and took him across the hospital campus to sit in the sunshine and watch the clouds.

Same scene as last post, from the same hospital window. 4:30 PM, with a hint of orange as the sun goes down behind us. 

I haven't been feeding the birds for the past couple of weeks, and they've been foraging elsewhere. But I stepped outside to re-acquaint myself with the garden this morning, and after a minute, heard a "cheep"*, looked up, and found three chickadees already waiting for their goodies. They must have been keeping a watch.

*It was a "cheep", not the usual half-scolding "dee-dee-dee" that the chickadees usually say. More of a question; "Are you back?" Yes, I'm back.

Thank you to all of you who have sent good thoughts and encouraging words our way. It has really helped to know people care.

Laurie is to have surgery on Thursday; a feeding tube installed to replace his defunct esophagus. Then there will be a few days of recovery, and he can come home, in time to catch the first crocuses in the garden.

A Skywatch post.

Grey and gloomy

A view from a hospital window early this afternoon. A rainy January day.

The east side of the hospital looks out onto Green Timbers Urban Forest. It will be a pleasant view in the spring. Right now, it suits my mood. Laurie is not doing well.

I walked across the hospital complex with a woman whose mother is dying, passing the birthing room on the way, and waited in line for a sandwich behind a woman with her pre-school nephew, talking about his new baby brother. Birth and death, and sandwiches. The stuff of life.