In Seventh Heaven
Started the day by baking three loaves of bread. Simple fare: two sourdough and a loaf of Old English Barley. All turned out nicely browned. Of course I took the first loaf, the barley, while still warm, ripped off a few inches and slathered it with salted butter. This is what nirvana must be like I thought [and all visions of willing virgins faded into oblivion], and this is part of what being alive is all about, almost the equal of an orgasm.
Then to the garden.
But, before I could don secateurs and trowel, the mail arrived. Should any one human be gifted in one day with such overwhelming opulence? There was the [not to be discredited] mundane, tier one: the Smithsonian and Audubon magazines. Then, tier two: the Spring issue of The American Conifer Society Bulletin, and, [and here I actually prayed for heavier rain so I would be forced to stay indoors] tier three: three beautiful journals from the Japanese Alpine Rock Garden Society, including the inaugural 1979 issue, plus a wonderful book of Japanese wood block prints.
I worry, how will I find time to slip in an hour or two of necessary sleep tonight?
But, to the garden.
Alas, there is no time to report on the planting, pruning, weeding, transplanting, etc., that went on today despite the rain, and my diminishing energy has been spent.
Must mount a one-man expedition and search for Whinkla - after I plant the x, and the y, and z.