I nominate Daisies and pansies as the happiest flowers in the Spring. There is just something about them that suggests energy and optimism. This morning, I had a choice: watch the many updates of the Trump trial in New York or go out in the sun and see the last of the Gladiolas, who never last long but make their beauty felt. Happiness is a choice; it comes from inside, not outside.

I’m sure I will hear about the trial soon enough and in nauseating detail. Have a lovely day, and I suggest making some happy choices. The news does not give us happy things to consider. I like to see the news, but there is too much news, too much overkill, too many things I don’t need to hear or want to hear. Let the boys play their games; I’ll find out what I want to know.

(Dyslexia Spelling Scramble of the week. FYI: When I wrote about our rat wars last night, I did a classic Dyslexia thing if you are interested: I started to spell “rat” as “cat” in the title at first and then throughout the piece. As with Bud and Zip, words of two or three letters and of things I often see around me are the ones most likely to get mixed up. I see them differently in my mind.  If I go back once or twice, I catch it most of the time. I proofread the blog closely; almost all misspellings have been corrected quickly. This is one reason photography has become important to me; it never tells a lie. It does matter, but not all that much. But I can’t change the writing on Facebook in the same way, and I don’t wish to spend time proofreading instead of writing. If the misspellings bother you, read the blog; very few are there. And if they bother you, please go away; I don’t want you to here. My writing is clear; that matters most to me and my readers. I know that similar numbers of letters are a problem, but I don’t know why. Life is full of crisis and mystery.)

Magolias are beautiful when they come and when they go. I hope I die as well.

Zinnia is such a quiet and easygoing dog.

I always say the same thing about her. She is a beautiful dog and companion. As a puppy, I asked her to come with me when I went outside to get the mail. Since then, she has done just that and has waited patiently while I collected the mail and walked back. I often bring a small treat as a reward. She never jumps on me, runs off, goes near the road, or disobeys, although she sometimes takes her time. But when I say stay, she says; when I say come, she sniffs the ground and comes. As I write this, she lies by my feet, snoring lightly. Now and then, I lean over and scratch her belly.

Clothesline Art In The Wind