It’s right after dawn, and the air is quiet and cool. Most of my garden is waking up, but the pink and yellow four-o-clocks, having offered their fragrance all night, are closing.

Broad caladium leaves border stands of aspidistra. Bees buzz in the purple salvia while mockingbirds and cardinals start their morning conversations. Flaming orange marigolds hold steady as tiny pink wildfire waves on wiry stems. Our majestic live oak towers over everything; I planted it in a coffee can 34 years ago, before I even had a yard, because the tiny acorn sprouted on its own and it so desperately wanted to live.

All of this is true, but it’s not the whole truth. You see, my yard is now a wilderness, due to months of neglect. Carefully-laid flagstones are obscured by grassy growth. A rosebush in the fa

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