June will come again….

So it’s 23 degrees F in Portland. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be 15. Which is pretty cold for anywhere, but especially for here. And I’m saying to myself, well, it’ll give the tulips and the peonies that cold snap they want, but, inside, I’m thinking: man, it’s not even officially winter yet.

So to counter living in the dark, here are a few shots of my garden in all it’s hammy June glory, the month when everything just…shines.

About Steve Patterson

Steve Patterson has written over 50 plays, with works staged in Portland, Los Angeles, Chicago, Detroit, Austin, Tampa, and other U.S. cities as well as in Canada and New Zealand. His works include: Waiting on Sean Flynn, Next of Kin, Farmhouse, Malaria, Shelter, Altered States of America, The Continuing Adventures of Mr. Grandamnus, Bluer Than Midnight, Bombardment, Dead of Winter, and Delusion of Darkness. In 2006, his bittersweet Lost Wavelengths was a mainstage selection at Portland Center Stage's JAW/West festival, and, in 2008, won the Oregon Book Award (he also was an OBA finalist in 1992 and 2002). In 1997, he won the inaugural Portland Civic Theatre Guild Fellowship for his play Turquoise and Obsidian. View all posts by Steve Patterson

One response to “June will come again….

  • xtine

    i love your hammy garden. to see pictures of it today is like looking at the face of a relative that has moved to another country.here is a poem. with a garden in it. and a hint of winter, too.**When I am askedhow I began writing poems,I talk about the indifference of nature.It was soon after my mother died,a brilliant June day,everything blooming.I sat on a gray stone benchin a lovingly planted garden,but the day lilies were as deafas the ears of drunken sleepersand the roses curved inward.Nothing was black or brokenand not a leaf felland the sun blared endless commercialsfor summer holidays.I sat on a gray stone benchringed with the ingenue facesof pink and white impatiensand placed my griefin the mouth of language,the only thing that would grieve with me.-Lisel Mueller

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