Text book Scottish spring morning. Forty minutes ago I could see the top of my eucalyptus tree furling and swaying in bright sunshine and impetuous wind. The jasmine also sat in an impossibly bright sunbeam. In the front garden, narcissus lay bent and some broken on the rock hard earth after last night's mild gales. I thought some pottering in the garden might be in order, but then through the sunshine impossibly large drops of very cold rain blew into my face and Amos and I beat a hasty retreat.
So I've played cello and hoovered part of the house. This included cobwebs which I have started to spot in the brighter light of spring. I also finished The Curious Gardener by Anna Pavord which I have been enjoying. It's a compendium on short pieces perhaps written for her column in The Independent and arranged by month. It's my Wednesday and Thursday book and now I'm moving on to my Christmas present from my dad which I have been saving: Weeds by Richard Mabey. Woop.
I have also had an email from the plant people who have informed me that plants are in transit. Even buying garden plants can be an exercise in patience for those with a deficit of it even before the immediacy of modern life. Right now I am looking at my garden through the kitchen door, eating porridge and listening to the Civil Wars. Not a bad morning despite the changeable weather.
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