This is going to be a short post because I've followed Samuel Johnson's recommendation.
"Read over your compositions and when you meet a passage that you think is particularly fine, strike it out." Actually it's because nothing particularly exciting has happened apart from finding a rabbit's head amongst my shoes. I do hope this is not a Godfather moment as I don't want to find a horse's head in my bed.
|"What rabbit's head? I've been here all night- right Beezel?"|
Talking of horses I am not best pleased with the manes and tails of Trude and Harry. Whereas Trude's tail is magnificent
|Trude's magnificent tail|
Harry. either because he was bored or a bit peckish, has eaten a chunk out of her mane and rubbed the top of his own so it looks like Rod Stewart in the early 70's.
I blame it on the bugs - the horses are feeling very itchy. In fact this year I don't think I've ever seen so many butterflies and moths and it's been a bumper year for the dreaded LILY BEETLE.
They may look marvellous in their cardinal coats but they completely destroy your lilies if you are lucky enough to have any in the first place. Mine have all been destroyed with one or two exceptions. (Casa Blanca, Pink Perfection, Speciosum album - they've all been chomped up)But never mind - now is the time of the Day Lily and they don't seem to like those or if they do they've left mine alone. Day Lilies are purported to have a flower that only lasts a day but it seems that they are always in flower this time of year so they must have stacks of flower buds each one waiting in the wings for its day of glory. There are masses of different varieties but the three I have are
Joan Senior, American Revolution and a fantastic red one called Stafford.The other creamy/white one I use is Gentle Shepherd that I've put in other people's gardens but failed to do so in my own. Note to self - put one in for next year.
|someone is laying very small eggs at the moment!|
Who will take care of this garden, who will nurture it?
I will, said January.
I will anchor it to the earth with snowdrops.
I will give it my stone, the garnet.
It is mine, said February.
I will feed it the memory of all that grows.
I will welcome it with amethyst and primrose.
I will coax it with bloodstone and daffodil, said March.
Like a boxer battered by winter
I will lift myself from the frosty canvas of the earth to welcome it.
With diamond and daisy I will seduce it.
I will soak it in shower after shower, said April.
In the yawny earth its seeds will riot.
I will make it dizzy with emeralds
And the fumes of the hawthorn, said May.
It will know of nothing but play.
And I will adorn it with a necklace
Of honeysuckle and ruby, said June.
It will dance to my languid tune.
I will contain it, said July.
I will handcuff it with briar and chrysolite,
Drug it with the scent of roses.
August spoke from the garden’s stillness.
I will weep layer upon layer of sardonyx.
I will teach it the brevity of poppies.
When its bones begin to creak
I will cure it with aster and opal,
I will guide it towards sleep with the cold light of sapphires;
For its lullaby I will provide the swan song of dahlias,
Under the weight of dead chrysanthemums I will bury it,
said November. I will give it a headstone of topaz,
a rosary of berries.
And I will guard its sleep, said December.
On a pillow of moonstone
It will dream of holly and the coming snowdrop.