a color story: night time flowers?

I took a detour in my night walk. The chirping crickets and the cool weather suggested the longer walk.  I wanted to check out the newly divided hosta plants anyways. The bottom half of the lane filled with green foliage while the other not so much. It was nothing to worry about -  hostas were low maintenance perennials. I walked between the pine trees and my rock garden filled with grape hyacinths like a tiny lavender field. The previous home owners probably planted the minuscule bulbs; I was never a fan. 

Until, I saw the hues that these "grapes" revealed. It left quite the impression.

Every fall or so, I received a flower pamphlet from Breck's bulbs. They imported bulbs and roots from Holland (but so do most plant distributors as I discovered later on) and I thoroughly enjoyed going through the colorful pamphlet. The flower's end result pictures connected with my aesthetic urges and they served as my horticulture education - 90 percent of the plants on the pamphlet were unfamiliar. In the back side of this pamphlet, Breck's combined all of their white blooming plants and labelled them in a package as their night glowing plants or something of that sort. Huh. My initial reaction alluded to a cheap gimmick. I shouldn't fall for this "trap". Or could I be "seeing" this wrong. 

Just last year at the local library, I discovered rock gardening. I thought that would be something only relevant to Japanese gardening with the zen theme in mind. But, the Japanese took a hard left on rock gardening - there were casual forms accessible. I absorbed the pages and it was possible to plant hostas in rock gardens, adding succulents between the cracks was good practice and you guessed it, grape hyacinths were popular for their small bulbs. So why couldn't I expand my gardening horizons to night time gardening? Could it be that I don't like going out while the bugs were out? Sure but it sounded too lame of an excuse for my lack of perspective. 

I just never looked at a garden in the night time. 

When I observed the grape hyacinths in the moonlight, I saw a type of purple that had no reference point; the mysterious hue rooted from purple and that's all I could describe about it. The novelty of looking at a rock garden under a moonlight put me in under a spell. For purple, I never experienced a warm vibe. This moment reminded me of a scene in Wes Anderson's "The French Dispatch" where the culinary savant discovered a new taste via poison. Although my situation wasn't as dramatic, I found the impact of a new sense of color to make me stop and wonder. I guess there were more colors to discover through nature.

I just need to open my eyes.

Summer was approaching with longer days and warmer weathers. But, I found my "new" warm color through the night. I wondered if that same spark or moment will occur once again if I looked for it. But, I doubt such a silly notion. The colors must come to you whether you like it or not.