March 1, 2025

Saint David’s Day. His flower is the daffodil, and I have a few just putting forth incipient yellow tips. 

Cool, bright. More work in the garden, largely pruning. Excessive growth of hydrangeas and sweet shrub has constricted my driveways for a couple of years now. I am SO much the person who adjusts to his environment, rather than changing it to suit himself, that it never occurred to me to prune them back. I relied on maneuvering my car just the right way. J who came to do the estimate lit on that first thing. Another I pruned back to allow peonies in the front garden more light. Mockingbirds thronged me as I worked. A black vulture soared low over the garden, banking almost at the ground before rising again. His hugeness altered the perspective of size in the garden for a while. 

Playing tracks of the Ukrainian National Hymn and weeping. This is America’s lowest point, a traitor to our friends and a lap dog to the worst of our enemies. Shame consumes me.