More from my friend and fellow gardener, Diane:

This bit of prose by Rainer Maria Rilke came via e-mail on Monday:

Everything is blooming most recklessly;

if it were voices instead of colors, there

would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.

That shrieking was audible, and coming from me.  I just went outside to admire, once again, the “wow” electric purple show of the PJM rhodies in full bloom, against the white white billows of the flowering pears, only to discover that those in the coldest part of the garden are brown mush.  Yuk.  From the 25 degree temperature at 4 am this morning.   Reckless rhodies.