Photo by Mike Perry
By the first week of August, the balcony had forgotten what coolness felt like. The morning sun arrived far too early and settled itself among the flowerpots with no intention of leaving, while even the breeze seemed exhausted, wandering briefly through the railings before disappearing into the streets below in search of somewhere shadier.
The Balcony Gardener knew that August, especially this one, was not the month for grand ambitions but for quiet vigilance. Each morning, she visited every pot with her watering can, pausing longest beside the blueberries, which had been so cheerful in spring, offering delicate white blossoms without the slightest complaint.
. . . the Balcony Gardener had always suspected that plants spoke a language too patient for hurried people to understand.”
Now their leaves drooped by lunchtime and lifted again only after a generous evening drink. Had anyone listened carefully, they might have heard them sigh with relief, for the Balcony Gardener had always suspected that plants spoke a language too patient for hurried people to understand.
Teddy understood it perfectly. He appeared whenever the watering can was filled, convinced that flowing water was one of life’s great mysteries, and examined every splash with scholarly concentration before delicately patting the stream with one paw.
Although the water behaved exactly as it had the day before, Teddy received it each morning as a fresh miracle. Once satisfied that the blueberries had survived another watering, he withdrew beneath the little table, where the shade lingered longest, and stretched across the cool stone floor with one paw dangling in perfect contentment.
During the heatwave, the butterflies flew lower than usual, drifting through the lavender as though the afternoon had grown too heavy to lift them. Teddy followed their slow movements with grave attention, though whether he was guarding the balcony or merely pretending was impossible to tell.
On Tuesday, Madame Dupont arrived wearing a straw hat so enormous that it seemed to possess its own weather system. By the time she had climbed the stairs, she was pressing one hand to her forehead and declaring herself overcome by the vapors, so the Balcony Gardener guided her towards a chair while Madame Dupont announced that Paris had become warmer than the Sahara.
The bees had become unusually chatty in the heat, moving between the lavender and thyme with news gathered from gardens all over Paris.”
The geraniums appeared amused, the rosemary gave a tiny shake of its silvery leaves, and the blueberries, being better mannered, declined to express an opinion. Madame Dupont unfolded a lace fan and waved it with such force that the nasturtiums leaned away from the sudden breeze. Teddy opened one eye, studied her for a while and concluded that whatever the vapors were, they seemed to require a great deal of talking. He closed his eye again and returned to the more important business of listening to the bees.
The bees had become unusually chatty in the heat, moving between the lavender and thyme with news gathered from gardens all over Paris. Their humming seemed to carry rumors of thirsty roses beside the river, tomatoes ripening on Rue Mouffetard, and a fig tree near a bakery that was certain rain would arrive before nightfall. The Balcony Gardener never heard the words themselves, only the gentle vibration filling the warm air, yet she had learned to trust the change in their voices and often found herself preparing for something before she knew what it was.
Late that afternoon, she gathered a handful of blueberries and the last bright red currants, which glowed in the bowl like small polished stones. Before long, the berries had colored a jug of iced tea a deep translucent red, while mint from a nearby pot cooled the fragrance and slices of lemon floated among the ice cubes as though too tired to sink.
Madame Dupont accepted a glass with deep suspicion and declared that, in her day, refreshments had known their place, but after one cautious sip she fell silent, took another and finally admitted that there might be occasional exceptions.
The blueberries lifted their leaves with the quiet assurance of those who had known all along that rain was coming.”
Teddy had meanwhile become fascinated by the ice cubes. When one escaped from the glass and skated across the table, he followed it with increasing determination until it spun beneath Madame Dupont’s chair and vanished. Madame Dupont lifted both feet and announced that even the ice had become mischievous, while the Balcony Gardener privately suspected that the little cube had found its way to the place where lost buttons, missing socks and disappearing teaspoons gathered after slipping out of ordinary life.
As twilight settled over Paris, the balcony began to change. The bees lowered their voices, the butterflies rose from the lavender, and the plants released their evening scents into the cooling air while clouds moved slowly beyond the rooftops. The blueberries lifted their leaves with the quiet assurance of those who had known all along that rain was coming.
The first drops landed so gently that Teddy looked upward in surprise, and within minutes the balcony was wrapped in the soft silver music of summer rain. Madame Dupont lowered her fan while the Balcony Gardener stood smiling in the scent of warm stone and wet earth. Around them, the plants drank without restraint, their leaves trembling beneath the falling water, and for a few precious moments the entire city seemed to pause and listen.
Anyone glancing towards the little balcony might have noticed that the blueberries were standing taller and the lavender was bowing beneath the rain with quiet dignity. The last butterflies disappeared into the deepening twilight, while Teddy blinked slowly at the gathering dusk.
By morning, Madame Dupont had recovered completely from her attack of the vapors, the blueberries showed no sign of remembering their thirst, and the bees were once again passing confidential news from balcony to balcony. Only Teddy knew where the wandering ice cube had gone.
Editor’s Note: Read more of the Parisienne horticulturist’s adventures in The Balcony Gardener Volume 1 and The Balcony Gardener Volume 2.