Oh, my garden.
I have been terribly neglectful and unforgiveably & barely dutiful in my dealings with you as of late. I know I rush in to tend to the most basic of your needs. Yet, there you are this morning: fruiting, lush and green, redolent with splendor from a late-night washing. You brighten at my approach. The birds are chirping away at how happy they are to flutter about in my secret garden this morning. Neighborhood cats, protesting my refusal to recognize the anti-attack treaty they have made with Sandy-the-Dog, look longingly from their fence-top perches, also wishing to enjoy you, sweet Garden.
My deepest and most sincere apologies. I promise week after next to make it all up to you. I will trim you back and water you up. I will sing you songs and feed you something delicious. I will gather the gifts you have for me and I will give you the most precious thing I have to offer: time. Yes, I will give you my time.
Good morning, Potentilla