This time of year — on the cusp of just warm enough and too hot — my wandering mind winds its way around to full-on thievery.
It is an annual inevitability for which I blame other people’s perennial borders. And accidental alley plantings. And rock gardens. Also, certain commercial landscapes.
The urge to pillage has been especially intense this year. It started back in May, with a glimpse of a flowing quince hedge tinged with blooms a deeper-than-ever hue of orange.
I later made note of a glorious mat of purple poppy mallow sprawling out of its bounds around the corner. And then came the incredible stand of scarlet poppies at the medical pot store, standing chest-high in a skirt of blue irises. The urges have worsened as old rambling roses have begun to spill over backyard fences in perfumy clouds of pink and magenta.
Surely no one would miss a trowel full of mallow, or a quince sucker or a spray of especially fragrant roses, heavy with the potential to take root in my own garden.
But surreptitious plunder brings with it issues of conscience. And so I’m forced to pore through the garden catalogs and look at local nurseries for legitimate ways to acquire objects of my desire — content to steal no more than a glimpse and a sniff. And maybe, if no one is looking, a seedhead. Dana Coffield, The Denver Post
