I can't think of anything useful to say about anything that's happened recently. I don't know. We keep going. What else are we going to do?
So let's talk about milkweed instead. Actually, first, let's talk about blueberries. You may remember a few years ago, Sherlock was very excited over the concept of pink blueberries, but they never actually materialized on the plant. We had a few flowers and then nothing. Well...this year was a bit better.
You can see they are vaguely pink. Not are. Were. That was about as far as they got because the birds ate them. Apparently birds really like pink blueberries. Perhaps they think they are some other sort of especially delicious bird delicacy? Can birds even see color? Anyway, the blue blueberries did better:
Those are some nasturtiums in the background. Again, were is the more appropriate verb as they are mostly dead now and the blueberries are long gone. Everything is autumnish and a bit sad, which seems appropriate. Everything except the chard, which will survive unto the end of the world.
Sherlock and I went for a walk the other day and came home with an explosion of milkweed (I'm sure that's the right collective noun).
Obviously I now regret my entire life. It's worse than glitter. Why did I ever allow it into the flat? It's in all the corners of all the rooms. It's stuck to Maf's tail and Greg's hair (where it blends in nicely), it's between my toes and on top of the fridge. Little tumbleweeds of fluff everywhere. It's like a very soft, peaceful Western. Maf likes to chase them. And yet, somehow, the seed pods still appear to have just as much fluff as they did when we brought them inside. By spring, we shall be buried in the stuff.
Take care of yourselves.
So let's talk about milkweed instead. Actually, first, let's talk about blueberries. You may remember a few years ago, Sherlock was very excited over the concept of pink blueberries, but they never actually materialized on the plant. We had a few flowers and then nothing. Well...this year was a bit better.
You can see they are vaguely pink. Not are. Were. That was about as far as they got because the birds ate them. Apparently birds really like pink blueberries. Perhaps they think they are some other sort of especially delicious bird delicacy? Can birds even see color? Anyway, the blue blueberries did better:
Those are some nasturtiums in the background. Again, were is the more appropriate verb as they are mostly dead now and the blueberries are long gone. Everything is autumnish and a bit sad, which seems appropriate. Everything except the chard, which will survive unto the end of the world.
Sherlock and I went for a walk the other day and came home with an explosion of milkweed (I'm sure that's the right collective noun).
Obviously I now regret my entire life. It's worse than glitter. Why did I ever allow it into the flat? It's in all the corners of all the rooms. It's stuck to Maf's tail and Greg's hair (where it blends in nicely), it's between my toes and on top of the fridge. Little tumbleweeds of fluff everywhere. It's like a very soft, peaceful Western. Maf likes to chase them. And yet, somehow, the seed pods still appear to have just as much fluff as they did when we brought them inside. By spring, we shall be buried in the stuff.
Take care of yourselves.
