It's the middle of July (well, almost) so things are happening in the garden. I walked up to the bank this morning and noticed small red things on the raspberry bushes. Durwood made short work of them. He's dedicated like that.
There's a hornet that has been building a nest inside the patio umbrella all summer. I've knocked it down three times and every time they build it back, so later I'll be getting out the can of hornet spray and settling the matter once and for all.
The first reddening tomato is making progress and it has a pal. Durwood's being patient, not very patient, but patient.
I was sitting in the yard this afternoon when this little guy came and sat on the grass right by me. It stayed there for quite some time. I don't know what kind of butterfly it is but I'll be looking it up.
July 14--Winston Fraser, Candlelight. The flame stood tall and still, barely wavering, light in a soft circle around the base of the dark wood candle stick. Maeve inhaled and saw the flame flicker at her indrawn breath. "Len, we need to talk about this. It won't go away if we ignore it." She watched his eyes dart from side to side and the lines around his eyes deepen. "You do what you want. I don't care." His fingers pleated the tablecloth in small exact folds. She looked out the window at the line of bulldozers knocking down the row of buildings at the bottom of the street. "They're getting closer every day. Either we sell out and this beautiful old place disappears or we stand and fight the developers." He shrugged, a kind of twisting tic that lifted his right shoulder and dipped his head to the left. "You can't fight them, they're too strong, and they have all the money." The candlelight sparkled in her tears. "But this is our home."
Now I should probably go fold those sheets I laundered the other day before it's time to put them back on the beds.