It is so tempting to run around declaiming “Beware the Ides of March” in ominous, stentorian Shakespearean tones.
But really, I go outside and there is a cloudy sky that promises maybe some rain, which we could use. It is keeping it from being too too hot, which really puts a crimp in the daffodil style as these lovelies prefer cooler temperatures.
And I got my peas planted, and lettuce, and broccoli, and onions, and leeks, and wild kale, and mesclun, and spinach, and lettuce… and so it is hard to feel that anything dire is going to happen with all that hopeful promise of seeds in the ground.
And then, out in the Stroll Garden, I get to see this going on all over the place:
It’s hard to feel doleful and foreboding with all that at your feet, you know?
For the record, that photo is completely untouched processing wise, so you can see that there is a nice pink daffodil going on, as well as that darling beensy (is that a word? it means smaller than teensy) one that is at the bottom of the bouquet. Yes, they really are that small, and as a bonus they smell quite lovely.
And also, I am much recovered from my respiratory virus, just a little drainage and not much else. Thank heavens. Otherwise, how would I be able to turn the rest of the vegetable beds and prune the apples? All of which needs doing, that and more.