This must be someone else’s garden

Summer arrived suddenly.

It was as if spring got shortchanged and we leapt from late winter into summer with nothing in between. I watched the gardeners wake with a start and begin tearing up their lawns and gardens with a fury, as if they had overslept and had to make up for lost time.

I do not garden. I spent most of my adult life trying to convince myself that I liked gardening and I was just not doing it right. Gardening was never a satisfying pastime. I would plant things but had no interest in pruning or weeding or watering or fertilizing or whatever else I was supposed to be doing with whatever I had planted.