There’s a bush,
There’s a bush,
There’s a bush
at the end of the driveway.
Meh. It doesn’t scan as well as There’s a Hole in the Bottom of the Sea, which I knew as a church-camp song and which my mother would have known as a Grand Ole Opry song if she had listened to same, which I don’t think she ever did, not being a fan of any genre of country music. Actual opry, albeit light, was more her style.
Anyway, there is a bush at the end of the driveway in our rented house in Tempe, far from any sea. It may not make for a good song but it’s quite a nice bush. I took a photo so you can see for yourselves. Here it is, as seen from the front. Nice, eh?
Of course, it’s one of those modest, muted-green, small-leafed plants that the desert is known for–not the splashy, dark-green, large-leafed plants of a rainforest, tropical or temperate–but it’s nice. It’s even been nicely shaped by someone who knows how.
