"West Wing" is on in about five minutes, Q said as he came up the walk.
I turned from my digging and tried to pushed my hair out of my eyes without getting even more dirt on my face than was already there. I think I'll stay out here and take advantage of the light, I said, since I have to be away so much this week. We just got cable television, and "West Wing" reruns are now available to us three or four times a week. I believe Q has scheduled a four-hour "West Wing" orgy tonight, while I am away.
I only see one television show and "West Wing" is it. But I had almost finished wrestling a 3' by 3' patch of ivy out of the ground -- no mean feat -- and I wanted to improve the soil there and put in some lavender. And then I wanted to make some new bamboo teepees for the roses in front, which had outgrown their old ones.
It was six o'clock and nowhere near dark. I had two good hours of light left, for sure. I have heard that we're to get another hour of daylight savings time -- can they do that? Just change the time like that? It seems a little godlike to me. But if they can, I'll take the extra hour and thank them for it, whoever they are.
Filthy. Stiff from bending. Happy beyond reason, though: six hours in the garden had passed like minutes. Time stands still there, in the company of the plants, who can't tell time and don't wish to learn, whose responses to their surroundings are slow and subtle, invisible to the human eye, conducted by innocent stealth, at night, so that we are surprised by the garden in the morning when we go out to look at what has happened there while we slept.
A man came by with his dog. A lot of work, he said, but it looks wonderful.
A perfect afternoon.