I have spent two days in our front “garden,” an ambitious planting project of this house’s former owners that we let go for about two years.
There are blackberries. There are frumious snagbush vines. There are wild-and-gone-to-seed Super Seven Hour Itch pods just bursting with burst power. There are Deadly Night-guant flowers (fortunately dormant during the day) that murmer sleepily as I brush against them. Smackdown Strumpets are always closer than you think (and very dangerous), and Patty’s Perfectly Persistent Poison Paranoia climbs other plants and strangles ’em, and will nail you down if you stand in one place for very long. Thank God we don’t have any of the stuff that blows off the Hanford reservation.
Okay, I made that all up. I can’t tell you the name of one plant in the garden other than the blackberries. It hardly seems fair that there are no berries to eat, none at all.
I close my eyes, and I see brambles. It is about as bad as the month or so that I spent playing Quake whenever I closed my eyes (move, run, jump, fire, run run run endlessly run through the corridors of enemy bots). I have not (yet) seen the nest of bees that Lilly encountered a while back. But if I do, or if I do find a frumios whatever, I’ll know how to jump and run run run, I can do it in my sleep….