Last night I had the type of dreams that make me suspect that months ago, a rabid bat bit me sometime in the night and the virus is just now beginning to roar through me. Seriously, brain? Flatbread in the sink? City camp, in duplexes and converted Victorian houses, surrounded by gravestones of past campers? Rain? Puppies peeing on random electronic devices?
I don’t know about you, but I need a serious herb chaser.
The borage seeds came from a local farm store. They were broken in the package, but still sprouted and bloomed beautifully. The calendula is a transplant from my parents’ garden.