Shangri La

Yellow lilies in turquoise pots. Smiling happily, smug even. But as happy as their cocky orange spotted cousins? Maybe not. Their blue-red dark lily cousins had appeared for the first time this year. They were outstanding; so remarkable, it was practically embarrassing. The yard was aglow and alive; more spectacular than she had a right to be. Showing off in a casual, yet fanciful way, without even trying. Cardinals, robins, and wrens were gliding in by the dozens, attracted by the plethora of colors. The feeders were full of course, six in all. Feeling the love of this Shangri La created out of a piece of God’s country was every creature in the grass, on the barks of the tree, and under the bushes. Butterflies, dragonflies, honeybees, and wasps were preening around the flowers. And there were five gardens, plenty of spots for everybody. An older lady in a wide brimmed hat was collecting bits and pieces of dandelions to spread around in the vacant spots. She was the curator of the yard. The dreamer who had thought this up twelve years ago, and built it up out of a simple prairie pasture. She played for hours on her heaven-on-earth, and it showed. God’s masterpiece, enhanced by one lone woman and plenty of appreciative creatures.