I don’t blame you, little blossom. I get that you’re down. I’m down. A lot of us are down.
How do we stand tall? When the drops are beating down on your head, the sorrow and worry on mine, the horrors of the world on so many.
But stand tall we must. Stand up, speak out, and make change. Inertia is strong, but we are stronger. The power in place is tall, but we can lift one another up taller yet.
Rise with me, little blossom. Do not bow too long.
My main duty these days is laying on my side and not doing things. At least two more weeks of cooking are ideal and my body and this baby appear to be plotting their own plan.
A slow soak of sunshine is necessary to keep the stir-crazies at bay, during which I plot my tender snail’s pace loop about the gardens.
Somethings are larger than they appear…
And sometimes I’m glad I have more weeds.
The carrots are looking more carroty.
The garlic are a tangled tussle.
This leek came up all on its own. Having never successfully sown leeks, I can only marvel at its persistence in overcoming my interference.
A kind neighbor gifted us some fig twigs.
And in their ancient wisdom (the seeds are well over five years old and have yet to survive my best attempts) the Alyssum has joined the party.
plumdirt 