The wild roses, considered pests, I think, are blooming everywhere. If I remember correctly from previous years, the ones that are pinkish bloom just a hair later. For now, it’s just white ones. The only time I spent in the garden today was in the early morning drinking coffee while contemplating the Heart of Darkness through the trees and later rinsing out the creosote-soaked rags. Playing with water is never amiss in the heat, nor is holing up in the cold, dark basement, even if you’re cleaning. The heat will break tomorrow, they say.
