Visiting the flowers is a beautiful new way to start the day. I have my weekly Zoon meeting with blog readers and friends, and then I’m heading to the Mansion Memory Care unit with my friend Ron Dotson.

He does this with dementia patients in Ohio and wants to see how Zinnia works. He has a dog he might want to train to do this work. I was going to put these art photos up yesterday, but I was too tired, and it got too late.

This is an excellent way to begin Wednesday.

There is a rumor that it won’t rain again until this evening; I’m learning what living in the Amazon Rain Forest feels like.

I look for photos showing the community’s flowers with one another, looking at each other, reaching up to the sky together, and sharing roots and water. Sometimes I think they warn each other of storms, people with cameras, or people who wish to uproot or move them.

I feel them speaking to one another, I can’t tell what they are saying, but it often seems urgent.

Sometimes I think I can already hear some squawking in protest or crying out when separated. I don’t believe in emotionalizing dogs; why would I think of emotionalizing flowers?

Because it works, other people can see what I see; II can tell from the messages and e-mails.

Dogs are not vulnerable or needy to me. I marvel at the differences between dogs and flowers. Dogs can bark and whine in protest; flowers can’t. They are helpless. Thus, they seem so much more vulnerable.

Flowers talk to each other; I can hear it.

Our new Rose is rising; I’ve got two Japanese beetle traps out, hoping to spare them the fate that befell their mother. I take their assaults on my garden persons

The Zinnias are coming into their own; they care nothing about the weather. I’m going to get another bouquet tonight once the rain stops.

The Lisanthius are my favorite flower in photography, full of character and dignity. And color.