Yes, it has been a very cold winter. Wishing for actual, physical spring. Little leaf buds on the maples are there on time, as ever. Japanese magnolia buds are swelling, as ever.
Our crocuses have been up for a while. Deer have been eating our tulips. We put a big load of compost on the beds last year and haven't seen the little buds of peonies I would expect to see, hoping they are there, somewhere, under the compost.
One of the best things about a garden is that life happens, inexorably. The wheel is ever turning.
But the wheel means death, as well as life. As I get older, I don't want to travel, so much. I like sleeping in my own bed, or in a fancy hotel, the more stars, the better. Now, I think travel would have been better when I was younger. But then I was broke.
Travel, for me, means going to Baton Rouge to see my dad. We eat seafood, and sit on his deck drinking Manhattans, looking out at the lake, and the ducks and the pelicans and the herons, and the joggers who run around the lake 24 hours a day.
When I die, I don't think I will regret not seeing Petra, or the Mona Lisa, or the Taj Mahal. I will regret not having more crawfish and shrimp and crabs and Manhattans with my dad. |
