How could one lawn have so many weeds?
How could so many determined,
single-minded bits of unwanted greenery
spring up between the patio bricks?
For a little light reading, I'll sometimes indulge in a "cozy". Picture, for example, a single, middle-aged, female protagonist who has "a man" come to do the digging and repairs. She may even have a woman "to do" for her, not everything, perhaps the "deep cleaning" in her impossibly-charmingly-thatched-cottage. (I'd be just as happy with a woman doing the maintenance and the man deep-cleaning; my daydreams are equal opportunity employers.)
The only thing marring this idyllic scene is the certitude that at least one pesky corpse would be discovered amongst the hollyhocks, in the hedgerow, or some such similar place.)
Let's just blame the sun for this little flight of fancy. It's hot out there, the kind of day where I think about the time that one house demands and whether I really should continue my search for another one, or just find a lovely, maintenance-free condo where
I could take a dip in the cool pool,
or lock my door,
plane ticket in hand,
and know that all would
be safe in my absence.
There you have some little ideas that than ran through my head as they tried to escape the club of heat being wielded by the sun...
They'll pass by and more sensible ones will take residence.