Most days of the week for 3 decades I'm here, below.
Stone Mountain daisy is unique, in all the world/galaxy, to this single spot.
They've already begun to fade & their musky sweet smell of decay & death is intoxicating. Thrilling. A smell metaphor, "You've made another year. You're ALIVE." Language of Nature I understand. People? Not so much.
In the crevices & margins, above, I never cease to marvel and many times a year simply stop to absorb their lessons.
With every step this mountain lets me share in what is sacred.
On this mountain my place is secure. Providence speaks the eternal.
Garden & Be Well, XO Tara
Pics taken yesterday morning. Would love to have the perfume of yesterday, "Tara, you smell like dead daisys." "Thank you." I say.