My tree-climbing child self and my best-Swedish-saw-and-secateur-wielding adult self spent most of today cutting away dead wood. In addition to the physical satisfaction of a day's hard labour, this activity is also a metaphor, of course.
Isn't everything? ; )
Beneath these piles of sorry-looking rhododendron and cabbage tree branches there is - believe it or not - grass and a footpath. . .
I was slightly annoyed at being stung by a wasp whilst working - the most uncouth of all insects, proffered friend Chris on Facebook. I'd commented that the palm of my hand was throbbing. He was being kind, commiserating. And I agree with him about wasps. What other insect would presume the sugar water we put out for the tuis and bellbirds each morning is being poured into the coconut chalice as an invitation to them to partake? The wasps, I mean. My patient nectar-feeders have to hang about till dusk these days, practicing their riffs and trills and clackity-clacks whilst waiting for the wasps to take themselves off to their (very hidden) corner of the neighbourhood to sleep - or whatever it is wasps do after dark. (Does anyone know?)
I am always glad of the birds' company; they become more interactive and conversational by the day - especially when I spend good chunks of time out in their garden.
It'll take me a day or three to clear up this little lot (there's a fair bit still to be done) but I felt a sense of relief when I sat down on the front steps this evening with my ripe avocado and glass of pomegranate juice; how good it is to able to see through the wide-armed trees and all the way down to the water again.
