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.


  1. 1. Kick those dogs off the chairs and sit down ... remember who's the pack leader ... as I struggle to type with Buster on my lap ...... who was it again???
    2. Your garden is lovely ... you just need to get Mike to remove any weeds, prune things etc while you supervise with a cup of tea, glass of wine etc
    3. When is that bonfire ... I have stuff to burn ... and I'm still waiting for the invite!!

    1. Soon . . . I'll dig out the roses and you buy the marshmallows . . . then we'll be good to go! xx

  2. I know what you mean about falling out of love with your garden - I sometimes feel that mine is a real love/ hate relationship. On a good day I will walk up it and see only the things which we have done, and on a bad day, I can only see the things that need doing.

    1. Thanks Jane, feeling very down in the dumps here . . . my dream for the garden always seems to be constrained by what was already here when we arrived . . . somehow I find it difficult to be bold enough to make wholesale changes . . . at the moment, I think a rather large bulldozer would be very welcome here. Then I could start again.

      Is it wine o'clock yet?