1. [Redacted from private blog.]

This goes into the iron box with the fork. I’m done.

2.

I have been thinking that 17 per cent lung capacity (2010, gift of second-hand smoke) cannot cash the checks 67 per cent (2009, gift of glaucoma medication, invested all my money in a large house and garden) wrote. It’s not true. I have my Safco collapsible hand truck at hand, and moved 300 lbs. worth of planters in under 10 minutes.

3.
Yeah, it’s a buzz saw. I walked into it. Because I am immune, invisible, and bullet-proof.

I’m done. Moving into Forgiveness 401, which is this.

4.
One of the fruits of sitting in the garden crocheting is you realize that solutions to your practical problems, as well as happiness and heaven, are at hand.

The rosa glauca, having moved on from lovely blossom, concatenates hips, while I concatenate lace.

5.
I have been dreaming of Dean Riddle’s garden, and having runner beans on bamboo tripods, for at least 10 years. Last year I planted them along the 120-degree Muralla del Muerto and they were toast.

I planted them in a better place this year.

6.
What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore– And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over– like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

— Langston Hughes

7.
It might could grow in the desert. Where it is planted.

Penstemon palmeri.

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