I'm going out to work on my friends the rhodies. They are Zow - ing right now.
Sophisticated, very sophisticated, and elegant and fleshy and shameless.
Wedding virgins in punch colored lingerie.
I got Stumpy off the bed and am making him go with me. He is only 5 or 4 or so, and it turns out he doesn't even know basic garden-work protocols; like say Fui and Keet. Stuff like what we're doing, or when "You're all right" means you don't have to move, and "Look out" means you goddam well better. There has to be an element of them getting run over or they will stare you down (ala Fui the arrogant). Fui moves. Yessir. She knows I'm not to be fukked with. (But if she has time, she growls.) "Move it, Bosco!" (Bosco de Gama is their yard name.)
Wheelbarrows full of stuff are hard to stop.
He might be too stupid to fix, but they're work anyway. Stumpy's missed his instructive years, for our main activity. Which, from the state of the rhodies, looks like it ended about eight or ten years ago. The plants all seem to have a sort of scary fungus. Oooh. Gotta go to Lucie's and take leaves.
Okay. Don't want to get tired before I go.
But I wish you guys could see the blooms. Rhodies like these have the largest bloom mass of any plants I know. The colours are to eat.
Uh oh, Stump wants back in.
He's staring at me.
He wants to know why I threw him out and said get ready.
He's staring and banging on the doorknob. (He has a little shelf he sits on.) Serious stuff. He doesn't like tricks. |
