aka Tax Season.
Those frilly daffodils are really pretty and seem to be a lot hardier. Of course, it's entirely possible that the frillier daffodils are some other flower entirely, what do I know? I can usually tell a rose from a daisy.
Hez isn't allowed in the back yard (as if I could actually enforce that,the truth is, she finds the backyard dull compared to the excitement of the street) which is a good thing because the quail really really really do not like her around.
Yesterday morning there was a California Woodpecker in the birdbath, a pair of mourning doves (morning?) on the fence, quail under the oleanders and some little black throated birds I think are chickadees.
I'm sure the blue jays were somewhere, but uncharacteriscally quiet.
Wanting is -- what?
-- Where is the blot?
Beamy the world, yet a blank all the same,
-- Framework which waits for a picture to frame:
What of the leafage, what of the flower?
Roses embowering with naught they embower!
Come then, complete incompletion, O comer,
Pant thro' the blueness, perfect the summer!
Breathe but one breath
And all that was death
Grows life, grows love,