The azaleas came early this year, flashing pink in the spring against their own unruly green.
My dog pants heavily, bounding across the yard, chasing his shadow from the azaleas to the Japanese Maple and back.
Tired, finally, he scratches his back against the bush, scraping against the limbs, deforming the bush, shaking the blooms down.
I yell at him to stop but he ignores me.
He is young. He knows only the joy of the moment, the scratching of that itch. If only he could understand that their beauty is frail and annual... I want to tell him, but I don't speak dog and he doesn't listen anyway, so I lure him inside with a treat and leave the blossoms until next year.
I've been slacking on posting here....trying to get back in the habit.