This photo was taken in my garden a couple of days ago - not the first rose of summer, but rather the last rose from last year's crop. Perhaps I should have pruned the bush in November, but it's usually a job I leave till Spring, and now I have this lone pink rose overlooking some wee early daffodills. The literary among you may already have clocked the quotation in the title of this post, but if you need further clues I'll add that the maz'd world seems not to know whether it's coming or going.
In Alabama we saw whole beds of pansies in gardens, at roundabouts, in park areas - and then, on the morning we left Birmingham (the day the bird-bath was frozen) saw them drooping in the frost of a perishing if sunny morning. And this whole progeny of evils comes from our debate, from our dissension - does it not?