It's a bit of a wet morning for it, with rain having come down in a fine mist when Xenophilius had first gotten to work, but has since dried up. It's left the earth moist and cool, the leaves of the vegetable and herb plans clung to by beading moisture, and saturates the air with the smell of the garden. The wizard kneeling amongst the plants has dirt on his palms and beneath his nails, streaking the knees of his trousers, but he also couldn't be more content. The gardening implement in his hand rakes the ground so that he can dump wayward weeds into the pile he's made at his side, and white-blonde hair clings to his brow more from recent rain fall than perspiration -- he works like it's leisure.

The humming can be heard at garden's edge, and it's obvious he is in his own little world.