In the magic of Muck

 Oh it's here. The mud, the rain, the muck. I LOVE  it!. Sorry, eastern Canada. I know you are head high in snow.  I used to live there. I remember. But this is the magic of the west coast. The magic of the Muck.

 The magic of early buds on the Climbing Hydrangea. Trees that are dropping seed pods so fast, we'll be knee deep in Cherry blossoms before long.  And the mud. The glorious muck of the garden . It boggles the mind.

Boggles the mind so much I just had to clean out the greenhouse, tear off the dead vines of the evergreen clematis and clean up the weeds and dead geraniumns from last summer. Then a good watering of the Bay leaf bush, and tri-fruit tree sunk deep in its barrel. Worm wiggling. Mud and Mud. Oh wonderful. 

 Now don't keel over at the sight of a shoot or two on the Clematis. It survived the winter. It's growing.  In the muck of the greenhouse. Even the strawberries in the greenhouse are starting to grow.

 The dawn brings more light, earlier than ever, each day.

 And Spencer and Smokey, my ever present visitors, race around the yard like mad things, trying to leap over bush and wall. They claw at the muck.

 The yard looks so bare. But in that glorious mud stirs  more fun things than you will ever know.

 The cats find solace in the sun in the warmest part of the yard. They spend hours sunning themselves.

 Hanging about . Looking for more things to dig out of the mud. They seem to like beetles best. And then another day comes to a close, and yet another day rises over the mud. In the dawn. The moon hangs like a huge pearl. As if willing the muck to grow things.  Don't you love the magic of Muck?