Special thanks to MASTER GARDENER suzanne1943!
Desolate. The last remnants of the old west, right here in my dying yard. A reminder nothing lives forever. A Morricone whistle is heard in the air, the faint screech of a falcon, a close up of a scorpion seeking shade from the hot, hot sun.
Gone are the embarrassing overgrown skeletal attack-shrubs, also the stupid bark and the stupid tattered ground cloth flapping in the wind like a deserted clothesline in a ghost town. Gone is the embarrassment, period.
Welcome to the wasteland.