I went out into my garden just now.
It’s not a pretty sight.
I’ve neglected it for the past couple months
as I focused on my writing projects.
Here’s Lamb’s Ear strangled with bind weed:
Yarrow upstaged by thistle:
Sunflower in a neck-and-neck race with incredibly tall thistles:
Yesterday Zebu came out in the front yard where I was busting sod,
a task I began a month or so ago.
I’m taking out a huge area of lawn to be replaced with rocks
and isolated plantings.
Zebu asked, "Do you expect to have this done by winter?"
I replied in the affirmative.
Zebu expressed some doubts.
"Not only that," I said. "But I’m also going to have the kitchen all painted
and finish my book."
He said, "Something won’t get done."
I said, "Well, it won’t be my book. I’m finishing that."
He went back inside,
and I dug out another piece of lawn.