Horty; Rhymes with sporty

There must be a million metaphors for life. The two best ones are gardens and boats. The garden is looking luscious but I haven't got a boat. So, when somebody says, "Get a life!" what they mean is, get a boat.

A Spanish oak In the Corner of the Garden

Just bought a Barbecue

Shaping up

Fig Tree

 At the moment the figs are falling off the tree because they are so engorged with sugar. They are simply delicious. Plucking a fruity caramel cream off the branches gives pause for thought.

Grape vines

Cranberry

The Merits of Radical Pruning

Let's stretch the metaphor! Roses are pretty, some of them even smell delicious but you have to be careful with those thorns as Rachel Ward once told Richard Chamberlain. What they benefit from is a good hacking and plenty of well-worked, weed free soil. Just like people.

Cut my arms and legs off and then cover me in mud!

Christmas is coming early

Not Sure What this is; Any Ideas?

Grape

When reading about Waterloo writers are not referring to the fruit when they talk about grape. What they mean is buckshot, hundreds of tiny lead projectiles. I prefer the fermentable variety.

A view of the house from the garden

Gradually getting lusher

In fact, I would rather like to be a lush.

Marta looking confused

Pumpkins on the porch

A wooden tardis

Florid

I am slightly deflated. It is Thursday the second of October and I have been back to work for two days. And I'm not as old as I used to be.

All is well.

Today's poem:

Now as the train bears west,
Its rhythm rocks the earth,
And from my Pullman berth
I stare into the night
While others take their rest.
Bridges of iron lace,
A suddenness of trees,
A lap of mountain mist
All cross my line of sight,
Then a bleak wasted place,
And a lake below my knees.
Full on my neck I feel
The straining at a curve;
My muscles move with steel,
I wake in every nerve.
I watch a beacon swing
From dark to blazing bright;
We thunder through ravines
And gullies washed with light.
Beyond the mountain pass
Mist deepens on the pane;
We rush into a rain
That rattles double glass.
Wheels shake the roadbed stone,
The pistons jerk and shove,
I stay up half the night
To see the land I love.