There's always more time to spend in the garden. We haven't had a decent amount of rain for ages and the magnolia I planted last year is wilting. There was a flower at the top which dropped off and the others have dried up. The branches have colour but I'm concerned it's going to die. Several of the natives I've planted along the south side are drooping so I give these a drink and find other bits and bobs to fill the gaps. It's going to look glorious in a year or so, and provide privacy.
There's light drizzle so we postpone oiling the deck till tomorrow. Kahu wields the garden fork to tidy the dirt pile, digging and weeding. The novel Holes, which features digging, taps into a primal instinct to make holes. Perhaps we're looking for buried treasure or just getting satisfaction from physically turning over earth.
At home, Memphis supervises dinner preparation. I still tired and don't feel like socialising but drive to a friend's birthday party to eat chips and chocolate and pay respects to the usual suspects.
No comments:
Post a Comment