The day dawns grey and wet, the woods opposite flare orange in momentary defiance of leaden skies. A small tornado of leaves whips through the brooding morning towards me. The early light belies the darkening days. It is the last day of October. It has been grey and damp all week, but I have been gardening in fits and starts, between half term activities fit for a pandemic, between rain showers and sometimes through them as despite - or perhaps because of - the clouds sweeping regularly overhead, it has been mild. Things flower unseasonably; foxgloves make an appearance, pastel pinks out of place in autumn’s fiery palette, the red of the callistemon at least more fitting. As disorientating as the seasonal jet lag from last weekend’s clock change.
A Samhain offering
A Samhain offering
A Samhain offering
The day dawns grey and wet, the woods opposite flare orange in momentary defiance of leaden skies. A small tornado of leaves whips through the brooding morning towards me. The early light belies the darkening days. It is the last day of October. It has been grey and damp all week, but I have been gardening in fits and starts, between half term activities fit for a pandemic, between rain showers and sometimes through them as despite - or perhaps because of - the clouds sweeping regularly overhead, it has been mild. Things flower unseasonably; foxgloves make an appearance, pastel pinks out of place in autumn’s fiery palette, the red of the callistemon at least more fitting. As disorientating as the seasonal jet lag from last weekend’s clock change.