One of several vases of wildflowers currently on display in our Acqui Terme, Italy house.

My hill is covered with wild flowers - so many kinds I've lost count. Every week a new variety starts to blossom before I have time to mourn the ones that fade. Many are waist high and I'm sure would be considered unwelcomed weeds to gardeners more knowledgable than I. But for a week or two, these erstwhile undesireables adore themselves in cheerful yellow, startling red and deep soulful purple - just for the sheer joy of it. I think I like the purple best of all.

The weeds, eh flowers, have gotten so tall I’m having trouble using our super energy efficient outdoor clothes dryer.

Maybe some wildflower expert could tell me what these are? Besides beautiful I mean.

Chris is threatening to mow them all down and I'm actively hating him for it. He says they hold bugs and allow animals like rabbits, rats and wild boars to get close to the house without detection. Yadda, yadda - I'm not listening. Insead I've filling, well more like stuffing, vases, glasses, jars, old shoes, etc., with the ephemeral offerings each morning. I feel like the lady of the manor roaming the hillside with a basket over my arm, pausing to collect a bloom here, a spray of greenery there, as the form and color suits my fancy. I need one of those bonnets with ribbons to complete the effect.

I’m not the only creature enjoying the flowers. Besides a huge contingency of butterflies during the day, the swarms of fireflies at night are almost enough to read by.

In a couple of weeks the flowers will all be gone – part of their allure is their transitory nature, I think. So for now, I’ve got my basket and clippers in hand. Chris is starting to complain about there being no wine glasses in the cupboard…