Wednesday, April 05, 2006
The Day Of My Discontent
It happens every spring about this time; it seems every early April has a day that's unseasonably warm, with a dry wind, and a blindingly bright sun, and as the leaves are all still snoozing, the garden is like a stage with all the footlights blazing, showing up every little imperfection, with no softening green to hide the flaws and no shade for shelter. It also is a day when the thermometer makes you think the garden should be in lush, glorious flower, but most of the more spectacular blooms are still just homely buds. I always get this momentary feeling of disappontment, that all my efforts in planting have really not amounted to much... the garden just seems so empty. Two weeks from now, when all the daffodils are blooming, and the leaves are starting to emerge in a hundred shades of green, I will again feel silly. The daffodil Bright Wood, above, does cheer me up a little in the meantime.
// posted by IBOY @ 7:51 PM 
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Oh, dear Lord, the weeds.
This time of year they are center stage, all fresh and green and sneering... and I can't get to them until this weekend.
Torture.
Everthing else (save crocus) is just buds and promises...
This time of year they are center stage, all fresh and green and sneering... and I can't get to them until this weekend.
Torture.
Everthing else (save crocus) is just buds and promises...
One man's ground cover,
another man's weeds...
I wish I could be so cavalier about them. I just can't. They must go.
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another man's weeds...
I wish I could be so cavalier about them. I just can't. They must go.
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