There was rain too, of course, which does not fall in March in proper times.
The incessant summer rains are quite enough, manufacturing constant yard work, but winter and spring usually provide a rest. Not this year.
The yard is green. The plants are growing. And I’m even older than yesterday. With no gardener.
I’ve already decided against ever planting anything new out there. What I have is at the point of being overwhelming.
I could get a gardener, but there’s the cost, minding a schedule and dealing with another human being. And none of that appeals in the slightest.
I just spent over an hour outside with an aluminum ladder, rake, monster clippers and a wheelbarrow, trying to maintain a little decorum because I’m a decorous guy.
In a just world I would have been born a king or at least a prince. I would have had servants, retainers, jesters and, of course, concubines.
And lots of gardeners.
But I am a peon who does his own yard work and cusses, but then I spot a hummingbird or a rare tropical butterfly, and things don’t seem so bad after all.