I lied a little. There are things I don‘t want to tell you. How lonely I am today and sick at heart. How the rain falls steadily¹ and cold on a garden grown greener， more lush and even less tame. I haven’t done much， I confess， to contain it. The grapevine， as usual， threatens everything in its path， while the raspberry canes²， aggressive and abundant， are clearly out of control. I‘m afraid the wildflowers have taken over， being after all the most hardy³ and tolerant of shade and neglect. This year the violets and lilies of the valley are rampant⁴， while the phlox are about to emit their shocking pink perfume. Oh， my dear， had you been here this spring， you would have seen how the bleeding hearts are thriving.