With the roar of the Lawn-king in my ears, I leapt to preserve the gorgeous daisy lawn spring had delivered me.
Torn between saving it, and the welcome sight of garden maintenance performed spontaneously, I let it go.
The fantastic combination of more rain than we have seen in six years in Woodend, sun, and an ancient bag of blood and bone I discovered in the shed, and I finally figured out why other peoples gardens are virile to my withered. I found the very idea of a bag of crushed animal abhorrent, that is, until the hellebores doubled in size in two weeks.
I now describe myself as conflicted.