Alley Flower World in Michigan

The reason I'm experiencing a Michigan fall instead of a Culebra heart of H season is to house/dog/cat sit, and a big part of that is taking Mackey for walks. Bisecting each block is  an alley, giving homeowners access front and back. It is also  where I can indulge my yard snooping. There is a world in alleys of this sort, grassy, lined with fences of wood or steel, or increasingly, some kind of plastic imitating wood. A few have no fences, but only a few. There are plantings of flowers, a few vegetable gardens given away by a flashing red of tomatoes or a deep purple eggplant. And then there is the occasional pal of Mack's coming up, barking madly, all stopped by fences (there are no wandering dogs or cats here, and that feels all sorts of strange).

Secret worlds

Without the dog, I'd probably be arrested, pointing my camera into yards and snapping away. Without the dog, a critter I've loved since I met him dog years ago (via Casey, who blessed Linda with him and a woman we miss and think of dearly), I wouldn't even be here. I'm a lucky dog au pair. Linda can deal with the gossip after I'm gone.

I'd name these flowers, but I can't. Except what looks totally like a passion/parcha flower, right here.

I do know that that little creature is an ant. And this looks lily like.

Are these gladiolas? Or just glad?

These are everywhere in all sort of colors on the fences. Linda says in winter they are not so pretty. I'll never see that, so I like them very much.

Chrysanthemum of some special sort?

This might be a hollyhock. Maybe. But that is certainly a bee.

Another parcha type

Even I know this is a sunflower!

This red stood out from the other end of this particular alley. Bam!

Grapes!! This yard feels so comfortable.

Who needs man-made Christmas decorations? Oh. that winter thing. Never mind.

I'm venturing farther and farther afield in my alley stealth walks yet no matter how far I've gone, what began as startling and now isn't unusual is that some dog will bark behind a fence and a voice will call out 'Mackey?' Then the owner will come over, someone wondering, who is this person walking Linda's dog. Linda thinks they don't know her name, just his. They know both, don't tell.

 I've been questioned nicely a few times, in beautiful neighborly concern, but I still laugh to myself each time. Mad dog napper, moving into Linda's life, she's in the basement, hahahaha! ? But outwardly I am polite; Culebra humour doesn't play well everywhere. 

Have a mildly mad Monday. Do something munificent.