After sleeping properly, I even had the energy to do a little weeding and spreading of mulch between writing scenes this morning, which is really my favorite way to write. Write a little, garden a little, repeat endlessly.
I think this is one of the natives I planted, though am not positive of the name. I think it’s a swamp rose mallow, possibly “Halberd-Leaved Rosemallow”; the leaves are more maple-like, but apparently they sometimes are with this variety. Pretty pretty.
It has a little bit of a wild, sprawling habit, and I’m not sure I have it in the right place; it’s hard to place new plants when you’re not sure you understand what they’ll look like in the landscape.
Tempting to move it now, while the roots are still small and easy to dig up. But I think I’ll leave it for another season, let it get big and strong, see what it looks like in its second year. Worth a little more digging work next year, if it gets me a better sense of the shape of the thing.
I think there’s probably a lesson in there for writing too, but the analogy is a little murky. 
