Pour this pestilence into her ear

“Here’s your tea, luv.”  The down-beat of “luv”, sotto voce, his dead foliage voice, was the catalyst.

Harry was a polyglot. He spoke the language of flowers, communing with them as he trimmed and transplanted. Each plant elicited a unique coo, and a song. Spring was Ode to Joy. Fall was Mozart’s Requiem Mass  which he was humming as he placed the foxglove tea bedside.

The authority of reconstituted foxglove blooms revived Lady Smock. Her heart raced and she rose from bed, retrieved her gardening gloves and plunged them into soil damp with expectation.

Harry hummed his seedling song – Hallelujah!


12 thoughts on “Pour this pestilence into her ear

    • Lady Smock’s family are snobs and they think he’s beneath her but I agree with you, Rosanna. He has special talents.


  1. As someone (maybe Galen? Or was it the aficionados of chemo?) said, “It’ll cure you if it doesn’t kill you.”

    I am also in Maine. I think I’ll go for Sourthern Comfort on the rocks, rather than Coppertone.


    • Southern Comfort always makes me think of the 1970’s and “Harvey Wallbangers”, not that SC was an ingredient. Just because. I think I need to write something about that. Have one for me, Cynthia.


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