Every morning you appear outside my window in the fever of July.
In the blooming blanket of a Barbara Karst bougainvillea.
A red reminder of ripe melons and ready resiliency.
Of sweet magnolia miles and pink petunias past.
Of green thumbs and blue birthday hydrangeas.
Every night you fade with each Sonoran sunset.
But you are never far away in the garden.
By Mark Johnson, July 22, 2019