||[Apr. 22nd, 2019|12:54 pm]
As I swept the path into the kitchen garden my shoulder brushed the beech hedge that borders it and left a trail of dead leaves in my wake- so I gave up.|
There was a dead thrush on the path. It showed no sign of injury. Birds don't usually give up the ghost in plain sight. Might it have had a heart attack?
I forget we have rhubarb until I actually see the clump. This morning I picked some.
I transplanted a birch sapling from the field to the bed which- until Matthew went through it like the Golden Horde- was full of overgrown currants and raspberry canes. I've no idea if it will take, but there's nothing lost if it doesn't- and that bit of ground needs to acquire purpose.