Monday, February 8, 2010
It's February and, for suburban california anyway, the flower situation is still pretty bleak. Some radishes, calendula, the first wave of spring bulbs. But this little guy is a visionary, a speculator. Perched on dormant grapes, he gloats. Carving out great U-shaped arcs above the garden each punctuated with a percussive squeak. "Some months from now, ladies," he boasts, "all this will be sage and epilobium as far as the eye can see--red blossoms bursting from silver bushes--paradise on Earth. You'll want to get in on the ground floor of this one, trust me."
what a douche.