halfway between then and now

Which is what most of us are, most of the time.  I bought the plants for my balcony garden this past weekend, prematurely, as it has turned out.  At least I didn't plant them.  They are spread across my living room floor, chafing and wilting, I hope not dying, waiting for me -  not, not me - waiting for the weather to welcome  them.  This year too early, last year too late. I waited until after the AGMs of the Writers' Union and the Playwrights' Guild to do the planting and it was a hot summer and everything wilted then, too, for different reasons.  As I say: halfway between then and now, and it seems no matter what you choose, it's not good. It's certainly not what I had in mind.  I guess the closest thing we come to understand a Platonic ideal is in our hopeful projection about plants in the garden. Somewhere in our mind's eye lies perfection.  I could get pataphysical about that but I'll save it for another discussion  Pataphysics is a field unto itself.  In the meantime, I'll hope for warmer weather. Anon, anon.