The first rose of the season, a few weeks early,tucked away by the stairs.
Up above, just like any other spring day.
The Pasque flower blooms. The weeds flourish.It's a ho hum sort of day.
But down below,in the depths, there has been another leak. Another one. Ugh. Third? Fourth?I forget. I've lost count. This one is the worst. Maybe this will be the last. A 20 year old leaky pipe, rotting away at the side of the house, between floor joists. Took them an entire day to fix it, cause it was in such a weird place. Black mould cascading happily everywhere. Hidden. Ugh.
Spencer , of course, on the surface of his world, has no idea about leaky pipes.
The Giant Hosta collects rain water in the morning. Water. Leaks. Ugh. I've had my fill . And there's still the kitchen to tear up and the side of the house; the foundation plate has been damaged.
Up above, in the light, sweet peas are planted, lettuce stuffed into sea soil and Centaurea starting to bloom. Much nicer than down below. In the mess.
Cranesbill flourishes.
While down below, walls and ceilings are torn up , stuffed into bags. It still smells like rotting rats. That mould smell. That dreadful overwhelming stink, that they are drying out with massive machines.
The garden needs weeding. I should do that. Today. Get away from the sound of those drying machines downstairs. Sounds like a plane landing inside the house.
A new shawl gets Spencer's attention.He's all lovey dovey today.
Ferns grow wild again. Here. Up above. It's nice above.
Belies the upheaval underneath.
Back down below, it's only the start. Maybe there really is a dead rat somewhere. A couple of years ago I could have sworn that one summer there was something running back and forth in the vents. I don't really think so. Just water. And mould. And creepy crawly slithery things ....ugh.
And Spencer, the neighbour's cat, is happiest up above.
No comments:
Post a Comment