Proof, I am still here. My head is just above water but it is a damned close run thing.
I struggle to remember the last extended dry spell. The garden remains waterlogged. Scaffolding surrounds the orangery and master bedroom. Bedecked and betarped the droplets strike, now hard, now soft. Like political rhetoric it seems unending. The walk to the moth trap can only be undertaken in rain boots.
The crows strut around the mossy lawn. Celandines, Primroses and Bluebells vie with Dandelions, Lords and Ladies and small violets (species to be ascertained, for there are several) for dominance. Beyond the lawn the hard core of Bluebells goes stem to stem with the aggressively spreading Dog’s Mercury. Wood Anemones are pushing up. Solomon’s Seal is the latest to appear. Fading Daffs fringe everything whilst the tulips raise their bulbous heads and flare their pink or red lips; floral flehming? The Magnolia trees are in flower and the cherry trees are sporting their Spring finery, popinjays all. And tucked in the corner…
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