It’s been a tough twelvemonth, small victims all around. The young plum tree we put in to replace the storm victim faded away in late summer and is dry sticks this spring. The lovely little old rose that I wrote of in Brick, Dusty, Creamy, Silky seems no more. The Nandina domestica that appears in Darkening was half-broken by snow; we’ll see how it recovers from my attempt at surgery. Also half-gone (mysteriously, no visible wound) is our huge vigorous Mme. Alfred Carrière.
[Update:] Five days after disappearing, Marlowe showed up at the back door, in perfect shape but hungry. We hypothesize that he got himself locked in someone’s garage or shed or something. Now, if the plum tree shows signs of life, that’d be proof that blogging is magic.