This evening I tore out some plants that were not doing well and put in some new ones that I hope will thrive. I watered. And I had supper.
Thin slices of roasted pork loin with a reduction of pork juice, white wine, and butter, all garnished with parsley from the yard; a sliced avocado with lemon juice on a bed of wilted spring greens. (Chased with calories we shall not name.)
I am cooking for myself more often. For years this was a few-times-a-year phenomenon. I take it as a good sign.
Tonight my body feels the yard work more than it does when I spend hours and hours in the yard on a Saturday. Feh.