The clouds are half way down the escarpment and the rain is low-hanging. I went out to look for the laundry basket and became distracted by all the signs of growth. The unspeakable weed seems to spread mostly above ground, and pulls out like handfuls of hair. But I’ve lost all hope that removing it is the end of the story.
The broccoli crop is now evidently turning from a big display of leaves into something resembling broccoli. Harper is astonished by this. It’s that big, goalpost shifting discovery that things you buy in shops can actually be grown in the ground. While I was clearing the weed from underneath it, I found her small footprints in the mud next to it.
Spring is everywhere. At night we can open the window, and the scent of the crooked daphne and wild freesias comes in. There’s a gardenia planted under the bedroom window that must be twenty to thirty years old. I so appreciate the forward thinking gardener who put it there, but probably missed out on the pleasure of it on a warm night.
All around the neighbourhood the jasmine is coming into flower, and everyone is talking about winter being over.