Knitting up the raveled sleeve of care...

As you have already noticed there has been a shortage of posts this last week or so. Yes, the soliloquy has been turned off like a tap and not a word of explanation. I picture many, many (well I hope so don't you?) people checking their email, blogger or whatever method of you choose for the daily - well, we'll call it by weekly - news from the front office. They sift through the documents and never find even a scrap from the ignorant gardener. Well, as you have discovered that has now changed. Sweetness and light can now come pouring in like a healing balm. Like Browning so aptly put it, "the lark's on the wing, and the snails on the thorn (ouch! I would have thought, but by the general tone of the poem I guess it is something snails like) God's in the Heaven, all is right in the world." Yes, we are on the air, live and kickin'. Well, not so much kicking, but definitely alive. 
The black plague or one of it's nasty friends has descended on our little nook and done it's ghastly deed. It didn't want to do things in small measure, so instead, it took care that each of us would be sick on a different day. I thought I had escaped, but no, it was just waiting 'round the corner. Now, thankfully, we are all on the mend and I am hoping for all of us to be in full force for the weekend. 
So for now, I bid you adieu, and will end with that favorite line from McBeth as we all sleep the sleep of the weary. And so that you don't have to end on a downer, there are a few pictures of the last few days - good ones from the last few days - we don't try to capture a soul in travail. 

"Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast."