Carter’s Garden Blog


Sunday Reflections…

Cool, rainy, stormy night. More of the same today… Wonderful time to catch up on some rest! April showers bring, you know what 🌺🌼🌻😊 

I helped my Grandad transplant this azalea from an old home place over 30 years ago. Still blooms so beautifully in the Spring! It brightens a cloudy morning…

 

April Rain

The April rain, the April rain,
Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
And in grey shaw and woodland bowers
The cuckoo through the April rain
Calls once again.

The April sun, the April sun,
Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,
And in grey shaw and woodland dun
The little leaves spring forth and tender
Their infant hands, yet weak and slender,
For warmth towards the April sun,
One after one.

And between shower and shine hath birth
The rainbow’s evanescent glory;
Heaven’s light that breaks on mists of earth!
Frail symbol of our human story,
It flowers through showers where, looming hoary,
The rain-clouds flash with April mirth,
Like Life on earth.

    ~ Mathilde Blind

 

Peace,

 

Mark C.



Sunday Reflections…

All this warm weather this last week followed by this rain last night and today is going to make all these emerging plants and trees just explode with growth. I LOVE Spring 😊 Enjoy a rainy Sunday with family and friends.

Sometimes a rainy day is a sweet thing 😊

“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

 

Have a great day!

 

Mark C.



Sunday Reflections…

Rainy Sunday morning. My wife rolled over and said “let’s just sleep in”… Perfect 👌🏻 Enjoy your Sunday 😊

Sometime a rainy morning is a good thing 😊

There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

   ~ Sara Teasdale

 

Mark C.