As I sit here typing I am thinking of a friend who has left us. This one is for you Nina - you who bore your endless illness with bravery and great support from your family especially your husband, Sam.
So my first picture is of the wood at the top of the garden, where the wild things are, where peace reigns, where there is a sense of reality, not the artificial construct that is a garden of beds and lawns.
And I sit here and watch the birds out of the window, doing as they have done since the evolved from the dinosaurs, finches - this a greenfinch - goldfinches, chaffinches and today a cock bullfinch in all his glory. The tits come with their fledglings - blue tits, great tits and coal tits (and occasionally the little long-tailed tit.) Pigeons strut under the feeders and Luvvy and Duvvy, our resident collared doves perch on the shed end when they are not snuggled side by side on the beam over my reading seat.
And I upset Mr. Pheas and his dowdy mate when I walked up near the rhododendrons at the top of the garden where they have their nest. They come down, him on guard, and glean the dropped seeds from the feeders. And we have hedge sparrows and tree sparrows and house sparrows and even a pair of swallows nesting by the kitchen door. Gormless young robins and blackbirds skitter through the undergrowth and so on and so on . . .
The bed in front of the house is a mass of colours, albeit muted pinks, greys and blues.
Then there are some plants like these orange welsh poppies that shine like small suns in a bare area of banking.
Today I had the honour of a Gary Primrose visit, supposedly to ask about what to do related to advent of our new pond, but also to get him to look at the garden when it is not a wasteland. (Showing off a bit).
And R and I went to Holker Hall Garden Festival this afternoon - land of ridiculously expensive ice cream. We had a shared afternoon tea for lunch and walked the stands. R bought clothes. I bought some cheap poppies and phlox - a sucker for a bargain.
So, here is the bullfinch.
And here is a pain in the - well you know what.
Pinching my birdseed again.
Of course I will break the law and relocate the little bs. (birds' egg eaters).
They are classed as vermin - grey tree rats.
And after all this my mind goes back to Nina and her family.