The rain has finally stopped, the sky grey and the soil moist. I planted my last shipment of native plants as a woodpecker beat a staccato riff against the trunk of a neighbors tree. Walking slowly through the yard, I took note of growth and bloom when a male bluebird suddenly flew from his nest. I stopped and stared. I hadn't seen the bluebirds in over a week and assumed the dogs, kids, lawnmower, had all been too much. The box remained silent, no babies chirping. I stood still and waited. The male will come back, eggs will be laid, and babies will grow, all in my garden.
I headed toward the bare patch under the nannyberry (Viburnum lenato) and started to dig, the soil delicious in its pungency. The blue mist flowers have slowly left this spot, moving farther north towards moister soil. A less determined plant would have just died, but the blue mist flowers moved instead, their stems and leaves popping up closer to the Joe Pye weed. I chuckle and admire a plant so intent on living it chooses a better spot. I slip the ruellia hummilis into the soil and breathe deep. Finishing the day in the garden is always a beautiful end.