Gone to seed

Look, it's hard not to feel dried out and pointless... though, of course, unlike a seed, I carry no promise of future generations.

I always liked the part of Hamlet's ruminations where he says:

How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,

Seem to me all the uses of this world!

Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,

That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature

Possess it merely.

Yep. You got it.

Not a bad description of my actual garden.

Anyway, these grasses.... I went to the Reserve to check on some trees and as I was sitting in the shade to drink my cider vinegar, I saw them shimmering in dappled light.

It's all so dry and quiet, though I did hear a raven cronking and saw a pair of buzzards kettling. I thought I saw a hare running, too, but through the trees.