Tired and bushed

The light is so harsh when one is so broken. ©

Who knows what happened.

Did she overhear us and misunderstand?

It was a joke that “We could move and leave no forwarding address.”

Or maybe our mumbles about, “Such a cutie when small, but once they get that growth sprout, then it’s all demands and taking up so much more room around the house…”

It was a joke, I tell you.

The tender ones can be overly sensitive sometimes.

They always tell you to watch for signs: the not cooperating, pushing boundaries, getting prickly, and growing where shouldn’t.

Oh, we just shrubbed and said “It’s only growing pains.”

We didn’t realize the depth of the depression.

I guess the hurricane’s dreary grey and constant rain was the final flood that soaked to her soul. 

Made her brittle.

Drowning in her sorrow (To teach us a lesson! They will miss me when I’m gone!)

It does look bad to the neighborhood.

They had noticed our calculating glances when we thought no one was watching.

Perhaps heard the quiet plans about what we’d do if she were gone…

It was plant suicide – not murder!

(Although that variegated plant that fought with her over dirt space does look a bit too smug and more fluffy than usual…)

Wait. Does it look like those Variegated Liriope are actually pushing poor Rosemary out despite her distressed condition? Hooligans!(© image.)

RIP Rosemary plant. We’ll miss you.

Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge (who, like The German, is pretty bushed after last week.)

Rosemary, darling, we’ll miss your sweet welcomes. (© Seriously. Stealing a plant funeral portrait?)

 

 

 

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