We’ve been repeatedly assured by the local newsrag that this has been San Francisco’s coldest summer on record. As if I need them to let me in on this breaking news. Fog, fog and more fog, sweaters in Junes, the fireplace roaring in July and no complaints from me. Well, maybe a few, I need the practice.
And then today, boom, a pleasant little break in the permafrost. Lovely and warm and the best part? This warm wave coincides with my jasmine blooming. Heady, delicate sweetness abounds. Mmmm.
When I planted this, on a trellis directly below my bedroom window, R Man was very struck and said how wonderful it would be to lay in bed and smell jasmine wafting by. I was more sceptical (as usual.) I wasn’t even sure it could bloom here where it’s so chilly and I only put it on that trellis because it was the only spot I had available. That’s my gardening technique in one sentence: ignorant and sloppy. Whee.
R Man was proved right (as usual) and most summer evenings I can savor my own little Harlequin romance novel setting of jasmine perfume in my boudoir. On still, warm nights like this, though, the scent is astonishing. Heavenly. So I’m off to bed now to brood about going to work tomorrow and smell the jasmine.