Bruised and battered

Because sometimes not everything in the garden is rosy.

Almost exploding with injustice and rage, the garden proved the salvation it so often is. A few snaps for blip, and then instead of going back indoors to unload the dishwasher, sweep the floor (again) and think about dinner, I pulled out a couple of weeds. And then a couple more. And after 45 minutes I had muddy hands, a slightly clearer front flower bed, and a much clearer head. I could have done that in five minutes with a hoe, but that wouldn't have provided the therapy needed.

I'm sure when I look back on this I won't even remember what it was all about. And that's probably just as well.

Life goes on.