White Horse Studio
 

  Skeetlin's Garden - 2007

The winter of 2007 throws a final storm at us in late February. The garden is silent and frozen, and a line from Archibald Lampman's poem "Snow" comes to mind:

The world seems shrouded, far away;
Its noises sleep, and I,
As secret as yon buried stream,
Plod dumbly on, and dream.

 

Spring arrives at last, and this time I lay down thick mulch to ward off the weeds.

It is a dry summer, and constant watering is essential. Tiger lilies and giant hostas have completed the circle, and for once, the weeds are kept at bay.

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