Succulence

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I wanted to watch birds–maybe take a photo, or ten–but the birds weren’t interested.  I’d heard them when I was inside, so came outside to watch.

The birds absconded from my garden.  They retired from their aerial runway for that evening.

As I sat, photographically dejected, I observed this Ghost plant, Graptopetalum paraguayense, charming rosettes all cheery and eager for attention, just a few feet away.

Succulent succulence.

There’s something pure spring about the green of this plant.  As I was pondering the lack of spring bird migration (that’s been a thing this year), I was rewarded with the company of these lush, friendly, spring-like plants.  Interestingly, Ghost plants show a range of coloring–green, to grey, to tinged with pink–depending upon sun exposure and time of year.  I grow quite a few ghosts, popped thoughtlessly in various pots around my garden; they’re stupidly easy to grow.

This crew sits in morning sun and next to a bench–the bench where I watch birds.

Or is it the bench where I appreciate ghosts?

Today, I’m joining in with Anna’s Wednesday Vignette for springtime, and all kinds, of musings.

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Seeing Red

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29

April is typically portrayed as a month full of pink, lavender, and yellow.   This pastel pulchritude reflects traditional concepts of new and fresh, infant and innocent.  My garden currently provides this zeitgeist of spring hue, but what grabs my attention in mid-April are the vibrant hots in the garden.

I’m seeing red.

Many years ago, a German friend gifted to me a handful of poppy seeds. Since then,  these harbingers of spring and symbols of remembrance pop for a month or so, usually March to April.

The blooms keep honeybees busy,

…and sway in gentle breezes.

 

As the poppies are showing off in sunny spots, a native Texas woodland perennial, the Cedar sage, Salvia roemeriana, also rocks its red.  Cedar sage are happier nearer to the ground and they bloom in shady parts of the garden.

 

There’s some vertical hot rocket red, too. Climbing up a fence, is Coral honeysuckle vine, Lonicera sempervirens, decorated with clusters of tubular crimson, with a flair of yellow.  Native green metallic bees and my honeybees vie for nectar-slurping positions.  If there are hummingbirds who’ve already arrived from Mexico and Central America, they’ll also buzz for these yummy blooms.  But so far this spring, it’s just the insects that I’ve seen at the honeysuckle blooms.

 

April love is like a red, red rose–or, as it happens, many Martha Gonzales roses.    The two shrubs–side-by-side buddies–sparkle with red petals, rich with deep green foliage.  They welcome walkers to my garden.

Fragrant blooms, each with a dash of bright white, are dramatic foils to the more delicate spring blooms.

 

Okay, it’s a cheat, but this Texas Beargrass, Nolina texana, sits blooming in a red pot.  The bloom stalk is akin to the April pale pinks, but the pot is hot.

Soft and pastel, or loud and hot–blooms are boss and you can see more beautiful blooms by checking out May Dreams Gardens and her Garden Bloggers’ Bloom Day.

Happy April blooms!

Alien

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Late one afternoon, bordering on early evening, I sat for a few minutes to watch birds.  The day was settling down and the sun, while bright, was low on the horizon.  Pollinators and birds were active as they wrapped up the day.

Spring migration in underway and the pond in my back garden is a draw for weary feathered travelers to rest, bathe, and drink.  I’ve only observed a few migratory birds so far this spring: some Orange-crowned warblers, a few American Goldfinches, one or two Lincoln Sparrows.  Still, one never knows what the garden will offer.

This particular evening, the garden offered up an alien–a little green guy.

Running along the top of the fence, he pause, listened, then dashed under the cover a twining vine.  I lost him for a minute, then he peeked out from the foliage and gave me the stink eye.  This little green fella, this Green Anole, Anolis carolinensis, was out and about and on the hunt.  Afterall, it was dinnertime.

Just after this shot, he darted into the body of the vine.  Shortly afterwards, I saw him smack his mouth in satisfaction, presumably after eating something, or someone:  bee, or moth, or beetle–only the little green anole knows.

He didn’t lick his chops, but he might as well have.

Joining in today with Anna’s Flutter and Hum and her wonderful Wednesday Vignette.  Please pop over for garden, nature, and other musings.