Day 217: At no other time of year are my flower beds as lovely as they are from mid-May to early June. Foliage is at its best, the greens fresh and rich to set off a display of spectacular colour and form which seems almost impossible for such a small space. No shade dominates, reds popping up among the blues, white and orange dotted here and there, as random as the stars in the sky. I long ago abandoned any attempt to control the chaos of my floral universe. Its mind is its own, and its machinations too complex for me to decipher. And, lest anyone think that I am a good gardener, let me assure you that as in the larger universe, there are areas where the equation breaks down: bare spots of infertile or clayey soil which have resisted my efforts to amend them. One could learn a lot about physics sitting in the garden, or under an apple tree as the apocryphal tale of Newton's gravitational revelation advises us, and what grows and what does not is governed by an uncertainty principle more complex and confusing than Heisenberg's.
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