At the outside of my herb garden, a hazel tree stood adorned by honeysuckle. The Queen of Ireland had said that the hazel tree could not live without honeysuckle once entwined. To me, this tree and this vine spoke of how well it went with the lovers’ love. I had let them be.
But now white dust had appeared on the hazel leaves. Oh dear, what ailed my tender companions? Perhaps they were ill of humor?
I gave their soil a drink of lemon balm tea, as I had found certain friends appreciated such spunk, and I showered the leaves with water. Benedicite.
The leaves dried anew by the afternoon and buoyed by the lemon balm tea, lent their ears again to the heavens.