We can feel the heat but the crepe myrtle allee protects us like a cave. Low droopy branches make it dark in here. Stifling, but better than roasting under the sun out there. Weeding and pulling up the deflated caladiums that survived the drought, it’s just three of us in the crepe cave. Three guys, all plant lovers, all devoted to the botanical garden, all 20 years apart. I think of Farrah Fawcett and that big merry-go-round of death in Logan’s Run. Random thoughts while gardening.
Beautiful memorial to your friend.