Oh
Joe
What have you done?
The work is unfinished
and vanished
the sun.
Wild wind from the ocean
is bringing the rain;
and we have no notion
when work on the garden
can start
or continue
be feasible
possible
practical
scheduled
set s l o w l y in motion
again.
This was only a poem. To be fair, it's a jolly nice day and our garden is holding its breath in good hope of work continuing to completion. Oh . . . no . . . wait . . . that's a very big very black cloud . . . If he can just get those fence posts set in so we can dig the new beds and put the plants we dug up back out of their buckets into the earth. Such a small window - it's November already - the season has a tension about it like someone with a sneeze that won't come - the cold is on its way but w h e n . . . . come the time it lets go I think we may see snow and rain clear through to February. Why am I saying this? I have no idea at all. But - quick, Joe! Get the posts in before the rain, and the wall pointed before the frosts! Joe is an excellent workman. Our house now has a patchy being - two parts Victorian villa to one part essence of Joe. It is held up by the wisdom of his hands. My, that wind is gusting! Hurry, Joe!