Spent most of the day in the garden weeding.
"What would the world be, once bereft,
of wet and wildness? Let them be left.
O let them be left; wildness and wet;
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet."
In my neck of the wilderness, the weeds are not left to be.
Because of their prolific nature, in some people's books, Forget-me nots are weeds. I let them go for it. I enjoy their brand of delicate cheerfulness.
- ...It observes the effortless weather turning blue
- And sees the myosotis on its bush." '
This was not my experience as I clambered about our steep bank. Thinking and reflecting was a luxury in which I couldn't indulge, there was far too much hard labour involved in today's weeding - toil that was accompanied, I noticed, by rather a lot of old person sound effects."Many gardeners will agree that hand-weeding is not the terrible drudgery that it is often made out to be. Some people find in it a kind of soothing monotony. It leaves their minds free to develop the plot for their next novel or to perfect the brilliant repartee with which they should have encountered a relative's latest example of unreasonableness."
I did feel a grudging admiration for the capacity weeds have to spread. Unlike a lot of flowers and precious plants, they need no coaxing to grow.