Tuesday, February 27, 2018


It was some while ago the Cherry Laurels began to suffer. A cruel winter, which had included an arctic episode that had required everyone to rush outside to either blow soap bubbles into the air to watch them freeze or to risk serious third degree burns by throwing buckets of boiling water into the air to watch it turn to ice before it hit the ground. As that winter drew toward spring it was clear that glossy green leaves of Cherry Laurel had taken a turn to that brittle brown, and yet in the heart of the plants there was hope, with good rain and warmth they'd shrug this off in plenty of time for the bloom of Day Lilies.

 Well today was chain saw day for the Cherry Laurels, and being is heavy with the burden of loss. There's a chance. A few scruffy, thinner branches might develop stubbornness, but probably not.  My own aches and pains from the exertion are well deserved. When I go back to seeing all twelve of them in their nursery, I wondered. Too hot and often too dry in summer, too cold in winter. "Not at all," the nursery man replied. But you get this sudden trust around want and to hell with the misery it might cause. For fourteen years the Cherry Laurels always bloomed twice, above and beyond their normal calling, but never once did they fruit..

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