First there is the name, which gives me a chuckle every time I say it as it sounds like the site of an epic Trolls versus Elves battle in The Lord of the Rings.
“And there was great despair in the land, for the blood of many fearless warriors was spilled in the great battle at Hahms Gelbe…”
It feels like “vanquished” should be used in there somewhere. Or perhaps Hahms Gelbe is a badlands where people are sent to exile. “He was doomed to live out his final days as a lost soul wandering wearily through the blackened and barren desert of Hahms Gelbe.”
Needless to say, I’d better not quit my day job as a garden writer. Doesn’t look like I’ll be making my millions ghost writing fantasy fiction for World of Warcraft fans.
Ascending up to the front door of our new place is a series of cracking concrete steps. They are fully exposed to the sun and I predict that in combination with the metal railings, they should prove to be a hot spot by mid-summer.
Since moving in I’ve been contemplating what to grow there. The steps are thin so I could not install large pots that would impede the mail man’s ability to get to the box. They’re in front of the house, and now for the first time in my life I am actually considering the neighbours. To a degree. This isn’t the suburbs after-all. Fortunately, I live in a mixed ethnicity, working class neighbourhood so it’s not an external pressure to “Keep up with the Jones” but more about not inciting bad blood with the Castilhos or receiving hostile stares from the De Silvas.