I wake up and automatically check the temps outside. 34. Oh dear. Ed, we’re going to pay a price for not taking in the tomatoes last night.
We goofed. Or forgot. Or got lazy. Or some combination of the above.
I stumble outside and pick up the little seedlings. Their leaves are upright, clasped together as if in prayer: please help us even as they wont. I bring them in. We place them on the window sill. Sorry guys.
Breakfast isn’t going to be among the daffodils. Unless you count the ones on the table. Inside. They'd fallen over with the heaving temps outside.
Monday. I bring home sushi, we listen to news, I work some more. Windows closed, heater on. Brrr.