The heat index lately has been in triple digits: 105º, 108º, even 118º! Hot, in other words.

Coming from beach breezes, a pool, and a glorious beach, it’s been a hard re-entry. But today, driving up from errands I didn’t want to run, summer offered me a huge bouquet — one I planted years ago.

The crape myrtle in our front yard have never been top-pruned (‘crape murder, we call it). They’ve only been lovingly pruned from the bottoms up, so they form a glorious ode to this scorching Oklahoma heat. Crisp and colourful, they bloom their fool hearts out.

I want to be more like crape myrtle, and less like my far pickier roses. They wilt in the heat, complain when the ratio of minerals isn’t right, and right now are being choked out by blasted grapevine the birds planted. Ugh. Instead, I want to bloom where I’m planted — vivid, colourful, and handing out high-fives of happy. Managing quite nicely on what’s available, and returning a large dividend of joy.

It hasn’t happened quite like that (I get sooo cranky when it’s hot!), but I’m getting better. Who knows? By this time next year, I may be able to bloom my own fool heart out!