A purely lovely early spring day, with sunshine, blue skies, fluffy white clouds, and, at intervals, the industrious little growl of Graham’s garden shredder. A great stretch of the back garden is now reduced to a chippy mulch, rotting down in the compost bin. Working from left to right the ground is being cleared down to the earth and the remnants of old stone paths. One more session and it’ll all be open. Then the garden planning process can begin. You can’t plan a garden, no matter how small or oddly shaped, until you can actually see the soil.
I popped out periodically with tea and sympathy, not that he needed any sympathy.
The cut daffodils I bought on Saturday are now in full bloom on the kitchen windowsill. I ought to have taken a photo of them but waited too long, until the sun had gone. Now, too late for a shot today, they are blooming merrily in the dark. If there were a breeze in the kitchen they’d be fluttering and dancing, and laughing, too.
Singularly appropriate to have daffodils in full bloom for St David’s day. He’d not object, I’m sure of it. Dear old Dewi Sant.
