Whence cometh the waterman or we go to it. The Erie beckons as the Amphorae pump the combustibles through the enervation orifices. The hubris of the roar intimidates all that gander. But beach-wise we are welcome.
I have applied the pomade to the scratches made by the original owner. The disgust I harbor for that cretin only superseded by that for the Birkenstock wearing, Volvo driving rabble. That bobble headed bleach blonde blundering its way through the aether.
But no more on that note.
I weather the weather and water the wistful. The interregnum parting the petals is flaunting for the show. With red and magenta, white and rose, yellow and tawny, colours wresting from the spectrum. The terra-cotta tufting the tcheraniums, no terrarium needed. Not terra-scaping either: that saved for more arid locales.
The cacti catching critters smaller than a gnat and larger than a gnome. Flower buds starting to bulge forth ready to grandstand all comers. The brilliance only surpassed by the sol itself. The Patented Textured Lawn now developing for summer. Modified Ex its nomenclature for the year.
If the photo dogs sun their way this year the play will be brisk, no lemon added. Mandevilla on the deck already reaching out for the globus glassici. They claim that fish of gold have no brain. I bicker to differ. Smart enough to know your voice and smartly enough to know the sound of tiny pellets bouncing around like a Bee Bee in a boxcar. The pair replaced from the freezer to freedom. Bigger might not always be better.
That affliction in the west known as morning glory just welcomed here and rising skyward groping for its purchase on the side of the shed, (one only please, One Ping Only). Legumes same wise in the raised bed and yet others as a thicket, the bamboo not far from reach. In absentia this year for the first harvest, the red globes sweet and crunchy uniformly planted and reaped. Now go carrot go!
The elephantis helianthus already the top of the heap. Last years’ such a showing I still have the staves and truncheons made from their stalks. A good sort in a garden dust up as is want to happen in the Yardus Pantetilla. The azure awaits as I fenestrate at the glory of the goodness provided by the resplendence of the garden.
A touch of cane today Aberdeen, I’ll try it like the French.
Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side.
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