Let’s just say that life has been a bit stressful lately with everything going on. Back in high school and college when life was understandably a bit like being high strung on a high wire, I would throw myself into poetry. I spent long hours playing with words and sounds, line breaks and juxtaposition. Now, since writing is kind of a career for me these days, I find that I need some other creative outlet that I can throw myself into head first without worrying about being good at it.

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Out here in the rust and russet landscape of Utah, I’m taking a break from the afternoon heat by escaping with my husband into a tiny local café. Cold drink, lots of ice, wobbly ceiling fan — and in the distance, the rippling, pine-studded ribbons of sandstone cliffs beneath a hazy-brilliant, unbrokenly blue sky.

Best. Honeymoon. Ever.

Wildflowers in the garden, a riot of purples, pinks and golden orange among the feathery green in early morning sunlight.

Gorgeous skies cresting to a deep sapphire blue, a smooth, unblemished arch above the subtle scents of autumn, crisp and rotting, wafting on a breeze that all summer moved sluggish and hot but now finally dips into cool.

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We returned home from our wedding on the edge to discover that our backyard garden of wild flowers had been plenty busy while we were gone….

Amazing white blossoms nodded and danced in the cool and autumn-scented breeze, turning their faces towards the warm face of the sun.

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A few days ago, our landlord and his son asked us to clear our tiny front porch area while they worked on stripping and repainting the ceiling. Usually we have a small table set out front with a few candles and the odds-and-ends the kids bring back with them from the woods. We don’t always do a great job of maintaining this outdoor altar, especially during the cold months of snow and ice…

But today, I needed some spiritual down-time to ground in the textures and scents of the earth and replenish my soul a bit. Our landlord’s home improvement project seemed a perfect excuse to revisit our outdoor altar with fresh eyes.

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Another gray, rainy day here in Pittsburgh with a week of similarly chilly, damp weather to come, and while it may be good for our newly planted garden, such a wet, cold spring weighs heavy on the soul that longs for the warm touch of sunlight. (And of course, I worry about the Allegheny and the Monongahela joining the Ohio to swell the Mississippi River still further…)

Still, the azalea bush is finally blooming in front of the house. That burst of color brings a bit of relief to the dull, gray days.

What cheers you up in the midst of chill doldrums?

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I’m not sure what these flowers are, but the exuberant, overflowing bush they grow on has clearly been left to run wild for years. Every spring in May these clusters of purple blossoms open, giving their scent to the unheeding speeding cars on the road. It’s not a pleasant spot — the road is busy and wide and noisy, the sidewalk narrow and full of potholes and cracked slabs and litter. But every spring, these flowers create a tiny space of respite and beauty to an otherwise rough and man-dominated landscape.

My best guess is that they’re either wild lupine, blue wild indigo, or some kind of lilac I’ve never seen before. If any readers out there have a guess, please let me know. I’d love to be able to greet these beauties by name.

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