Far Far Better

Today is Palm Sunday. So today is a victory celebration, a glorious reentry into the city. We won at football yesterday and I thoroughly enjoyed playing although I am somewhat battered and bruised. My present book is a second reading of a tale of two cities which is a masterpiece. The garden is throbbing with life, work is good and Jacky is happy and healthy but with his mum over Easter.

The quote is by Sydney Carton, one of the greatest anti-heroes of English literature.

seven or eight years old (My mental age)

The garden is in it's element. A small amount of work and there is a surge of growth, caused largely by spring, water, sun and love.

A garden; the best and most optimistic metaphor for life, love and renewal.

Day 1; Ash Wednesday

Day 3: ash Friday. Holly, rainy, Spainy, dark and damp. The metaphor is endless. It's a question of perspective. If you get too near to the red berries they look mouldy, but if you get too far away from the bush the garden looks empty.

Day 5. Sundry Sunday.

Gilty has been showing off this morning, chasing mice, playing hide and seek and digging. Further evidence for Spring. The birds are in full choir practice mode too.

I'm trying, as you might have gleaned, to keep a record of the garden over one year. I have been taking a picture every day. The last one you can see here was taken more than a month ago. All of those twigs hiding Gilty are, in fact, what was pruned from the grape vines.

Today's poem:

Tobacco is a dirty weed. I like it.
It satisfies no normal need. I like it.
It makes you thin, it makes you lean,
It takes the hair right off your bean
It's the worst darn stuff I've ever seen.
I like it.