Here you saw the sweet azure of bluebells…
In the ground and in pots, sunshiny daffodils succeeded the cool blues, whites and crisp yellows of stalwart Winter bulbs.
I ambled idly on the mound That hosted snowflakes, drops and squills,
Blurry birds… A female crest and two pairs of finches.
It rained the last two nights.
An eggless raspberry bellied bake Twitcher fuel – Kitchen-side of the glass
Pumpkats – Rattertats! Hatterchats? Soupcats!
In the pursuit of pretty, there are two kinds of gardener who wilfully apportion several weekend evening hours to hosing down their lawn, in a heavy storm, on the darker side of dusk.
Radial rhythm – Taps seed to feed agouti Whiskers, fingers twitch.
It’s approaching three months since I last wrote anything in my gardening journal. Since I last wrote anything at all. The urge or inclination to write is cyclic, like the whorling seasons. And as frustratingly sporadic and reliably unpredictable as bursts of unseasonable weather. The process of writing demands a greater input of concentrated energy […]