March Doldrums

:'( Haven't we all met someone like this?

A man of words and not of deeds

Is like a garden full of weeds

And when the weeds begin to grow

It's like a garden full of snow

And when the snow begins to fall

It's like a bird upon the wall

And when the bird away does fly

It's like an eagle in the sky

And when the sky begins to roar

It's like a lion at the door

And when the door begins to crack

It's like a stick across your back

And when your back begins to smart

It's like a penknife in your heart

And when your heart begins to bleed

You're dead, and dead, and dead indeed.

Nursery Rhyme Possibly by John Fletcher 1579-1625

so

Kick that someone clean out of your life

and

garden, garden, garden

A spot of sunshine

in an otherwise common dreary day

"F" is for Fantastic Gardens   :)

This Hole Wasn't Here Last Year ???

Pretty Ladies in a Row

Moss Gardens

Sunshine on a Stem

March---color's shyly appearing on the landscape, except for that tenacious henbit deadnettle hogging every square inch of the gardens with its demure purple flowers that I suppose need to pig out on their space requirements in order to be seriously noticed.  And - we do so seriously notice this little interloper that steals onto the scene quietly, then creates a massive white fungal mess as the flowers fade away and our humidity does its damage.  Disappearing by summer, it's seeds silently wait to irritate the hell out of us again come next March.

Fluffy large rabbit spied in back garden hiding from the dog last week...small scruffy rabbit startled in the front yard today as the bird feeder was stuffed full of treats.  The call of the eastern towhee is heard often, and he's frequently caught scrounging around in the wild weeds on the ground foraging for his supper when he isn't heisting seeds off the back deck railing.  The resident mockingbird is perplexing us once again with some newly learned sounds that have us all guessing.

Seventy degrees one day, 36 degrees the next, buds plump out in the warmed air, then hold their breath as the cold roars back in again, ancient ash tree stands naked in the dreary cold drizzle, it will be the last to clothe itself in greenery and seed layers come real springtime, and the hollies wonder what the hoopla's all about, what's the big deal about all this lovely icy chill?  It's all like a fierce crouched tiger silently waiting for just the right moment to burst forth with all its might.  Spring's waiting just around the corner on the next calendar page.