BREATHLESS IN ROSSIDE

I love the garden when it is still, not a whisper of breeze, like it is this morning, It is as if the garden is waiting for something.

The dog does not even nod its head and the pansies are unruffled. The pathway to the lower garden is filled with leaf litter from the big sycamore.

Then I realise everything is waiting for me with rake, secateurs, fork, manure and sweat. That seems to dampen the spirits a modicum.

The sun is shining and I have swept the drive/car park/whatever of old leaves and twigs. There is no excuse so out I go this afternoon even if it is only to pick up fallen twigs.
When we were in Scotland the other week we had a wonderful day that included a walk in Cally Woods at Gatehouse of Fleet. The autumn colours and branch filtered light were fantastic.

And now we are at the November/December watershed (or weathershed)(or whatever) yet there are flowers still in the garden - other than roses.

Here are some of the alstroemerias from the garden in a vase.
Today I have finished the bed by the back wall - weeded, deleaved (put in a big sack to make leaf mould) and too dressed with some go the old manure from down the garden.
R finished tidying the bed by the shed and planted some bulbs under the magnolia stellata.

I have built this structure to keep the willow poles, cut when the willow tunnel was demolished, (for supports next year), off the ground - Damian Hirst et your heart out - so they do not rot.

This is the cut leaved elder, hacked back to ground level in the early spring and now 12 feet high (about 4 metres for those who have gone metric).

It has been the Dick Fest, the weather has been good, and last night we were treated to a glorious sunset - unusual for us as we are south east facing - we tend to get sunrises.

Happy Birthday Gillie.