Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Disconnection . . .

I sit outside in the morning sun.  Warm morning sun for winter.  I sit on the edge of the front verandah, doing my knitting.

Sometimes I sit with my feet in the garden bed, as above.  Sometimes I sit with my back to the verandah post and my feet up on the verandah.  Either way, I struggle to inelegantly get back up on my feet - can only be done from a crawling position.

I sit like this, because the chairs are already taken.

In front of me and slightly to the left is DA Anne Boleyn.  With one large winter bloom -

dangling downwards on the spindliest stem you'd ever see.  No, actually it's not the spindliest, every one of my roses is spindly.  I hope it's because not many were given a haircut last year and are waiting for a good one this year.

I look at Anne Boleyn in disgust.

The violets are flowering along the path.

I resolve to dig out the standard Icebergs in the front garden and throw them on the next bonfire.

I have completely fallen out of love with my garden.