A jackdaw is pecking at buggy nibbles beneath the slim outstretched arm of an oak tree whose trunk is obscured by dark holly.
The world is too much.
Normal exhausted out of time
The clocks had already circled backwards when I took shelter in the passageway beside the second hand book shop.
It’s approaching three months since I last wrote anything in my gardening journal. Since I last wrote anything at all.
The birches arrived a few weeks ago: two Betula albosinensis ‘Fascinations’ and two Betula utilis ‘Jacquemontiis’.
As February gave way to meteorological Spring I felt happily satisfied that I’d managed to get a decent head start on this year’s gardening calendar – my first full horticultural Season in our new garden – by doing a lot of the groundwork over Winter.
Today is a day for thinking about doing. Not actually doing.
Words ramble less widely than thoughts, especially so when thoughts flow in pictures. But they ramble much further than even the wornest of worn hiking boots – before they settle, sometimes restlessly and uneasily, in notebooks and blogs – like this one and countless others.