June is so gracious. I go out into the garden every day and usually come back with a jar of something. Then I marvel to Josiah (who listens for the hundredth time) about how it all happens, about how it feels like Aladdin's cave out there, about the delicate and temporary riches of flowers.
I can't ever get over it - they're just out there, with almost no help at all, working their magic. Somewhere underground, something says ABRACADABRA and the garden makes things so beautiful and voluptuous and fleeting your eyes turn into hypnotic spirals.
The roses are blooming their hearts out and it's the last of the foxgloves and the beginning of the bellflowers.