And bang, the mist is gone.

Yesterday it felt like the city has fast-forwarded to winter as we were plunged into a thick cloud of fog all day. At work, we couldn't see the other side of the road. Walking home I did wonder if a cheeky photo for the blog might be a good idea but then my inner scrooge rose up as I almost tripped over 50 million amateur photographers on my way home.
Later that night, my lovely husband was talking to me last night about data farms and quoting horrific stats about the number of photos a day posted on Facebook and asked me "Where do you think there are all stored?" Of course, I knew not but now I know they are massive sites and could rival landfill sites in the future. At this point my inner snob rose up and I thought about our modern obsession with recording everything (Yes I know where I am writing this) and how when you are at a gig nowadays half the audience spend the time taking photos and filming to evidence their attendance perhaps?
I think that there is a tenet of Zen philosophy we can all take on board - whatever you are doing, focus on that for the time you are doing it and do it as well as you can. If you are at a gig, enjoy each second. Washing up - focus on it and get it done. Of course having never worked on a factory line this might not be appropriate for all circumstances but it's a nice idea.
What I originally meant to write about today was bulbs, and damn it I'm going to. I've been brave this year, Galanthus planted a couple of weeks ago at the back and purple Alliums this weekend, also at the back. Next month I'm going to plant orange Ballerina Tulips at the front. All this should match up with the fritillaries and crocuses that are already there.
Bulbs are like hope. On a dreary autumn day surrounded by dying plants, you plant a dry-ish beige lump in the flower bed. You fervently hope that it will look as beautiful as the picture on the packaging but your experience tells you the results will be mixed. For a moment you remind yourself that there is still a long way to go and most of your plants still have to die back and many of them won't make it to spring. But a little voice says: "But it could happen, and wouldn't it look stunning?". Gardening for me is hope tempered with disappointment.