Waged the honorable bamboo war this afternoon. Victorious. Had to lick wounds yesterday, rose bushes triumphed. Scars to show.
Not that the above is what I actually wore. The only things I own in this picture are the sunscreen, the Sigg water bottle, and the Uggs slippers. Slippers in which I do garden, I confess. I’m old. If I want sheepskin on my feet when I am doddering around with pruning shears, dagnabit that’s what I am going to wear.
It’s just so beautiful here in Northern California when the sun shines that who can care about the rules? And I think I will dream of buying myself a striped tote bag for my gardening tools, and seersucker shorts, and a special gardening shirt to protect me from venomous thorns. And a Japanese saw, which I will place on a stone and contemplate in its beauty.
But for now, the bamboo is thinned, the rose bush is staked, the weeds are lying dead on top of other weeds at the side of the house, and the shadows of the elm tree branches are moving on my windows. All of which leads to a sense of bemused gratitude. It’s so easy to be happy here, given, of course, some privilege.