Pathetic. That’s what it is, pathetic. I mean, look:
Hours of pruning, whacking, trimming and there it is. Ugly on a stick. Look again:
Rhubarb’s asleep, tomatoes gone, the scraggy, leafless bush-type thingee against the fence is soon to get a severe haircut, making the place even more bare. All of it made worse since this is the picture in my head. There it was, just a few short months ago in all its glory:
Including the resurrected mallow plant.
But now all is drear, depressing, messy, asleep, clipped, trimmed and waiting. The sand is damp from the recent rain and full of long useless holes dug by the greyhounds who are reincarnated coal miners, always burrowing in search of a cool place to park their butts or a nice narrow, smelly hole to stick their snooters in for a sniff. Don’t ask, I have no clue what they’re thinking.
But despite weather that’s lurching hot then cold, spring is on the way, the vernal equinox just around the corner. In the front yard, in a large pot, the new baby Rogers Red grapevine has gotten the word, sending out its soft fuzzy leaves, searching for the sun. It’s a small handful of hope, heading for the sky. The rest of the garden will follow.