A daffodil munched by a possum.
I think I mentioned how exhausted I felt. Yesterday I was overcome with tiredness. It took an amazing effort to actually get to work and during the whole day everything was an effort. Finally when I got home I crawled into bed.
This morning I slept and this afternoon I basked in the sun, pulled weeds from the front garden and took some photos of my garden's greeting to spring.
As I walk in the gate I am surrounded by the sweet smell of violets. They have survived the drought and produced a surprising number of flowers. They spread around the water meter and the garden tap.
The daffodils were planted by kind and thoughtful hands and are popping up all over the back garden. They give spots of sun on grey winter days.
I have a visiting possum. I haven’t seen him but he enjoys a diet of passion fruit vine. He eats every new shoot. He is also partial to daffodil flowers. I have a mental picture of spots of yellow moving through him as he digests yet another golden bloom.
In my last house in C Street I enjoyed the sight of a possum running along the top of the board fence. I felt it was a treat to live so close to the CBD and have the privilege of wild life in the garden. I don’t feel quite the same now that he is eating things I treasure. In the garden in C Street there wasn’t anything that he fancied or anything that would have mattered if he had nibble away at it.
The daffodils have been spots of sun in an otherwise grey landscape. First there was one then a second one then three at once not counting the ones the possum has eaten. What did Wordsworth say about them? I’ve forgotten but I think he was seeing hundreds at a time. Just one bloom in an inner city garden is enough to bring a yellow glow and a smile.
This morning I slept and this afternoon I basked in the sun, pulled weeds from the front garden and took some photos of my garden's greeting to spring.
As I walk in the gate I am surrounded by the sweet smell of violets. They have survived the drought and produced a surprising number of flowers. They spread around the water meter and the garden tap.
The daffodils were planted by kind and thoughtful hands and are popping up all over the back garden. They give spots of sun on grey winter days.
I have a visiting possum. I haven’t seen him but he enjoys a diet of passion fruit vine. He eats every new shoot. He is also partial to daffodil flowers. I have a mental picture of spots of yellow moving through him as he digests yet another golden bloom.
In my last house in C Street I enjoyed the sight of a possum running along the top of the board fence. I felt it was a treat to live so close to the CBD and have the privilege of wild life in the garden. I don’t feel quite the same now that he is eating things I treasure. In the garden in C Street there wasn’t anything that he fancied or anything that would have mattered if he had nibble away at it.
The daffodils have been spots of sun in an otherwise grey landscape. First there was one then a second one then three at once not counting the ones the possum has eaten. What did Wordsworth say about them? I’ve forgotten but I think he was seeing hundreds at a time. Just one bloom in an inner city garden is enough to bring a yellow glow and a smile.
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