Anemones

My Dad was a great gardener. When I was little our front garden was ablaze with colour all summer long. I was allowed, sometimes, to put up the big wooden sign that said "Flowers for Sale". In those days I couldn't say anemone.  My n's and m's got all confused.  I still trip over it sometimes and have taught myself the reminder "annie moans" (no disrespect to my sister of that name!).  For the first time on a long time I spent the day outside.  A laid a few stepping stones, repaired a bit of crumbling wall and  dumped a load of soil where Naomi had planted seeds; not on purpose you understand.  Grace came down for the afternoon and she and Naomi enjoyed some girl time at the sewing machine.  For thirty minutes the sun was warm enough on the patio to sit, just we two, with a glass of sauvignon blanc.