Bare ground in the herb bed has risen into spires—a city of frost. A downy woodpecker booms like a pileated on a hollow limb.
The view from my front porch every morning, in 140 or fewer characters
Bare ground in the herb bed has risen...
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[...] response to an entry from the Morning Porch. Series Navigationā Delivery [...]
http://crankymango.blogspot.com/2011/11/reflection.html
Seedlings are waiting for a chance in the sun. Beans, pumpkin, capsicum, chilli, coriander, and carnation. Jerusalem artichokes are lush and tall already.
The herb bed is crowded with expansionist perennials. Oregano reaching upwards in spires, silver thyme thick and scrubby like a city of frost, mint imitates the march of the viaducts, heading steadily up the hill beyond containment. Forgetmenots spread softly, small blue flowers with yellow centres. Slaters, snails and slugs crowd against the woody garden edge.
Down on the verge the native plants test their mettle against the drying soil and early heat. Wagtails dance and crows drawl, the sound reflecting through the park. The steam train calls, hollow, ethereal and breathy.