The mist was still overhanging Warwick Racecourse when I took the dogs for a walk this morning. It smothered all sound and was eerily quiet. The trees rose of of the mist and the dark shapes of the hills loomed behind them. The larks were flying low and the only person I saw was a lone runner away in the distance. Peaceful.
The only "spring" flower our here is a confused hellebore. Just the one. I've still got borage in full bloom. Just when I think summer is over the sun comes out and a bumble bee turns up to feed on it. Fuschias still doing well. Even on grey misty days the yellows of the birches and maples (field and norwegian) glow. The birches in the park opposite have shifted from butter to egg yolk yellow this week. All hail to those clever people who planted so many trees in this new city. We drive around in an arboretum, albeit a youthful one.
My 'feral' climbing roses have opened a few flowers this month, and the Red Campion is still bravely flowering a little. Oh, and one ox-eye daisy . Cowberry doing well too – such a weird plant; it has flowers and fruit at the same time. I wonder if that's because it's a tundra plant and used to a very short growing season?
Lively sea...pewter-grey waves topped with creamy foam. Steel grey mountains topped with shimmering snow. Busy, blustery wind singing through the branches. Rain drops tapping at the window. Black cat - snug in his basket, without a care in the world.