When I arrived the yard was mostly just filled with big stones on black plastic plus two sickly, scraggly roses.

After some weeks the weeds were starting to become thick in places where the plastic and stones had not been laid down, so a day came when I set to pulling them all up. In between, though, there were odd bits of not-weed here and there - some mint, a small succulent, splotches of African violets, some possible bulbs and a number of unidentifiable things which may have been weeds or may have been ‘Something’. For most of these not-obviously-weeds I elected to leave ‘em and see.

Among the most thrilling of these left-alone plants were the dahlias. It took some time before I even suspected that’s what they were, then as they’d grown taller a visiting friend confirmed. It was another number of weeks to see what expression they would take…. I LOVE dahlias. The anticipation was delicious.

When they finally unfurled I was initially taken by surprise by how brash they were. Candy Pink and totally Out There. Friends had much more composed and dignified varieties, so I had certain expectations. Soon all I could see and sense was their intense, unabashed exuberance. My heart smiled with joy and such gratitude that their home was in my yard. To see them left me feeling uplifted. Exalted. With a kinda fun and slightly cheeky edge.

Over one night and day a big storm moved through and blew many of them over. I staked them and trimmed them, bringing the trimmings inside. In the late afternoon rays of sun they stood in an absolutely perfect mess in my tall, op-shop, Chinese vase looking like a miniature explosion of fireworks in my living room.

An Exuberance of Dahlias.