Hibiscuit

The hibiscus, or hibiscuit as my daughter used to call it, startled me this morning. It bloomed overnight or perhaps with the sunrise. Up close, the stigma looks like an oyster mushroom and the stamen sparkling cauliflower. The tropical plant looks slightly out of place in the garden. I read that each flower blooms for one day.

We had to reschedule the BCBA and our playdate because both kids woke up with sore throats. Plod, pivot, plod, pivot. I left voicemails with three potential child therapists yesterday afternoon and today I'm going to gather my courage and email C's first grade teacher and school counselor to see if we can meet prior to school starting.

Our first hummingbird moth came to the blooming butterfly bush.

A yellow swallowtail collecting salt and minerals in the mud outside our pool.

The purple beebalm discovered, hidden by the lupine pods and apple tree.

I learned that the word nuance comes from cloud. Cloud to shade of color to subtlety.

The wind in the trees today sounds fuller, rounder, more powerful. The leaves are drying out, a bittersweet rustling.

Impermanence.

Nuance.

Presence.

Response.