Tuesday, November 21, 2006

On Standing at the Dining Room Windows Eating Cake, Whilst it Rains

... Our sea-walled garden, the whole land,
Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up,
Her fruit-trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined,
Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars.

Richard II Act 3 Sc 4,1 L 43-37

... I still haven't cut out and tied in the fruit canes, cleared the pond, potted up the spring bulbs for the house, moved the fruit trees, tidied up the roses for the winter winds, or cleared the fallen fruit from the June drop in the glass house. Mind you, we gardeners are all the same, even Shakespeare understood this. So I'll leave things a day or two longer and eat this gingerbread instead. Recipe to follow, eventually.