Enchanted Weekend

I have been wanting to catch up with you here for ages, but my life is so full of writing and of changes both little and grand, that even when I've had a few moments to sit still with the blog, the words just haven't come to me--me, the girl who writes.  And writes.  And writes.  

And then this past weekend was an enchanted mix of the old and the new: a new favorite brunch haunt discovered, an old favorite store rediscovered in a new place, wonderful new friends met, bags of old books scooped up at a library book sale, and the gift of a mystery packet of flower seeds.

On top of it all were the hours spent working in my mother's garden.  She has a wonderful yard smack dab in the middle of town, but with the sense of being out in the country.  Here's a shot of part of it below: 

Because there are no houses behind hers, all you see are trees and fields in the distance, a vista especially magical just before sunset.

Over the years, Mr. Magpie and I have spent many happy hours digging, weeding, and pruning in my mum's gardens.  One favorite spot is a shade garden we planted the year my grandmother passed away, using plants and flowers we'd dug up from Gram's garden.  It has come into its own now, overflowing with hostas, ferns, wild ginger, lamium, astilbe, and hydrangea.

In another section of the yard, my mother's roses, daisies, peonies, and irises bloom beside a rock wall.

And everywhere you look, blue and white balloon flowers volunteer, popping open among the phlox and the poppies and straight out of the pile of tree and hedge clippings behind an old stretch of fence.

The peonies have nearly passed now, but they are graceful even as they fade.

After a long afternoon of mulching, deadheading, and pruning, the reward was a large handful of blooms to fill up jars and vases and scatter from room to room. 

Some weekends transcend their two days, and remain etched in our minds as something more--a sense of possibility, a joy in the moment and the promise of more joys to come.  For even as one rose blooms and drops its petals, others wait to open, one by one.