The long days yawn ahead.
Long and lazy.
Pyjama clad, Croc footed I head for the fields with the lark and Boodle.
First stop the Cowshed, new doors fresh paint!
Actually re-claimed doors but let's not quibble it's too early...
The fields are humming already. Choirs of insects sing ~ the grasses sway. The dew drops balance like pearls of sweat, the flowers tangle with the grass, no-one is sure who came with who to this dance.
Where the field runs into the garden fringes it seems to be beckoning the roses, "go wild!"
And the long day yawns ahead.
The fields are "half-cut!" Drowsy and swoon inducing is the scent of a fallen wildflower meadow. Sorrel, Sweet Vernal, Birdsfoot Trefoil, Tufted Vetch, Clover, seeds and husks all jumbled like a giant bowl of nature's pot-pourri. It smells so sweet...honeydew, golden mead. I think it may be the greatest tea I'll never taste. The tractor drowns out the insects. Cutting long into the evening and the dark.
Dusk is purple and gold. I head for the fields with Sauvignon and Boodle.
We yawn, the long day stretches behind us.
Food for the winter.
I suspect I am talking to myself, but should you happen upon this post "Hello! Hello!"
I have been, and continue to be "here" Down the Lane. We are building a new piece of Lane which, whilst exciting, is also utterly terrifying and consuming. I promise to share all with you once we are respectable! In the meantime sending summery greetings or winter greetings to my Faraway friends!