Downed trees in Seward Park, trilliums coming up in my yard and a ton o' weeding awaits me. Light and shadow, bring an umbrella but bits of sun and an eagle calling out of sight in the treetops. The camilla is thick with pink flowers, wholly over grown. I'm a wimpy pruner. I make little snips here and there. My stout hearted girlfriend will wade in with giant clippers and give the camilla a proper grooming. When all appears dead, green mites appear ground level where I despaired of any plant living through the winter, especially a fickle winter of snow and warmth and more snow and ice. Plants in their dumb glory.
One lone daffodil but many more coming. I forgot how many tulips I planted last year but they are everywhere under the bushes. I will never vanquish the grape hyacinths but I always try.
The dogs in the park are, for the most part, delirious. Especially the blondes. They run all over, their owners calling in vain. I miss Yogi man and his barrel body. He was quite polite and above the frolickry.
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