It is summer. Maybe it rains a bit too much, maybe it's been too cold to swim recently. But the flowering in the wild garden goes on regardless. "Weeds" as they are sometimes called, wrap themselves around bushes and bulbs. The whole exuberant over the top lushness of it will be short lived. Light catches petals and pinks dazzle in a . . .
So the rain continued to bucket down all through July and alongside the accompanying sea mist, a kind of fog settled on my brain. The days melt into one and soon . . .
I know the neighbours despair of my nettle border and my overwhelming gorse mountain but I can't resist including them all in my mixed up wild, cultivated garden. There are so many parts of the country where the verges and the hedgerows are devoid of life. Grass grows, but the diversity that is natural to . . .