It's quarter to seven,
the gloaming is descending, Radio Archaeology is on,
D is next door finishing up trim carpentry so that O can paint tomorrow, the romantic woodland border "we" put in last year in the north ell is coming back, we sat on the Wave Hill chairs D made and admired it, it's sultry out, warm and humid, I bought annuals this afternoon and have already planted them, in the cedar barrels on the porch, a windowbox on one of the outbuildings (doesn't that sound grand? giant sarcastic eyeroll), and the redwood baskets that hang from the porch eaves. I'm a deer in headlights at the nursery, I wander the rows puzzling what to get, what will go together, what will be the tally. Reflecting, I should have started out by studying their pricey baskets for ideas for my own. One did strike me, a filigreed Victorian planter done with a rich bicolor petunia - deep antique pink shot with lime - and delicate white euphorbia. Beautiful. I now have that stunning combination for myself. Bought flowers for the cutting garden, zinnia, cosmos, cleome, and stock, and made up a basket of blue marine bells for the table on the porch. What else today? Looking forward to dinner - clams and mussels. Half price this morning but perfectly good to steam tonight. Took walks, opened road atlas, wondered about the distance from Seattle to Sacramento, Seattle to Vancouver, and from sulphur to sugarcane. Did Elvis Costello make that up, or is it biblical? I hope this note finds you, on whichever side of whatever border metaphorical or actual you may be, in sugarcane.