The only thing left to do is dream of past summers until I am rescued,if ever, so I'll think of the August day I moved into this house three years ago.
That first morning I didn't stop to locate the kettle in all that muddle; instead I threaded my way through a zillion packing cases until I found the sliders to the deck.
It isn't often that you have a palette as blank as this one. It was heavenly.
My daughter arrived with a car-full of plants carefully thinned out of the old garden. We concentrated on the strip closest to the barracks, er, house. I marked out the shaping of the beds and she dug them then and there.
Now it looks like this, or it will when summer comes.
No fair laughing at the bird feeder on the post. I adapted.
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