The garden this year, 2021, is better understood as a few flower beds, overflowing with Black-eyed Susans, marigolds, roses, a few echinacea, and hopefully sunflowers, which are dawdling. The crepe myrtle flourishes!
And here’s a little sketch of me wrestling the hose . . .
You see, I put off the watering until after the sun sets. This has honed my observation skills.
The garden looks like level ground in the shadows, but no. The front flowerbed is uneven: several layers of mulch that have not packed down and chipmunk burrows may be the reason.
Because it gets darker earlier I have to watch my step while wrestling with the hose, lest I become a statistic!
Viewed from the curb, this year’s display is vibrant; on a closer inspection, we see the weeds are elbowing their way in, along with the ubiquitous crab grass. And by the end of the day, all growth is wilted.
An apt description of moi aussi.
Too close a glance at me and Good Grief!
Someone commiserated that the loss of eye sight softens the message a full length mirror delivers.
The great secret that all old people share is that you really haven’t changed in seventy or eighty years. Your body changes, but you don’t change at all. And that, of course, causes great confusion. ~Doris Lessing, 1992
I guess that’s why . . .
The mind, as you age,
Is an artist, it seems.
Monet paints your mem’ries,
Picasso your dreams.
~ Robert Brault
Finally! An explanation for some of the vivid, nonsensical, romps my dreams can make. Have I shown you “my” Picassos?
By the way: My painting garden seems to be a bit more productive than the flower beds . . . Would you be interested in a few “cuttings“?