Yesterday I ventured out to my sleeping garden to do some maintenance work in the back of our acre of land. There's a huge brushpile that I would like to dispose of--David, however, is replenishing it as fast as I can bag up sections to put in the trash. I found it covered with a layer of dead leaves that spooked me each time I pulled a branch out to chop up. I have visions of some sneaky animal or, worse yet, a snake living under that brush and leaves during the winter. I was vigilant as I worked, watchful for some greasy little head or a coiled up shape that would send me running for the house.
The flower garden itself is frozen and I like the looks of it. I always let things weather the winter and then chop back the dead stalks in the Spring. Amidst the petrified hollyhocks and allium, my little bird girl stands awaiting the coming of Spring. A pretty little pot and even the birdbath still stand sentinel; I decided not to take them in--I think they add as much interest in the winter as they do in the summer.
It will soon be time to expend a lot more energy outside. For now, I got my fix by cutting up branches. I was relieved that no creature crawled out of that brushpile. I am safe until the next time.