A pearly full moon is rising through a stand of tall Douglas firs tonight. It’s casting an enormous, mysterious glow through the upper branches.  I’m stepping out onto the porch at intervals to watch its progress, as  meanwhile the Big Dipper shines above the back door.

What color is the moon in your part of the world?

This is the third summer I lived here and I’m still landscaping the front yard and creating a secret garden in the back. Ahead there’s lots of fencing, digging, edging, planting, and path laying.  I’m establishing the flower beds with deliberate color schemes. Lots of deep blues, purples, lavender, rich pinks. One bed is based around shades of sunshine and orange, and includes a pale rose, with variegated shrubs and cedars as a backdrop. Across the yard I’m creating a new curved bed of dahlias in wine, garnet, and berry shades. It will partially encircle a bench that in turn faces a bed of blushing bride hydrangeas lining the back of the house. Did I mention hole digging? And figuring out archway-slash-dramatic entrances?

Do you ever feel kind of invaded by or drunk on color? I know I do.  Season by season.

With summer only days away in the Northern Hemisphere, are you observing all the shades around you, while slipping them into your writing? Are you adding new colors to your repertoire: bone, alabaster, currant, merlot, sea glass, apricot, honey, marigold, butterscotch, daffodil,  flaxen, plum,  cobalt, ocean, sage, iron, onyx.

Keep writing, keep dreaming, have heart