slange

Something is wrong.

My garden looks good.

Better than it ever has.


I'd like to think years of hard work have finally paid off, but more likely it's because it's May. The deer and the weeds haven't yet organized their coalition attack.

We'll be away for two weeks; who knows what we'll return to. Nipped peony buds, munched elderflowers,

fading foliage where the spring ephemerals once danced.


For now I say slange and raise a glass of elderberry wine (2010), feeling pretty proud of myself and my garden.

Not to mention the elderberry wine. An extra year in the bottle has made it sing.