And the rains came
I make paper flowers and a lot of my time is spent in the garden gaining inspiration and trying to keep some semblance of order.
After a sustained period of lovely weather, this week has come as rather a shock. It has been my habit to saunter gently downstairs out into the diffused light of an early morning garden to see what is what. This morning, however, was an inelegant dash downstairs in woolly socks to light the wood burner. I then turned a mournful eye to look through a rain-streaked window onto a grey and battered garden. The high winds and unrelenting rain had turned the grass into a battlefield of fallen twigs and leaves.
In the early hours of the morning we were all woken by an ominous crack. Having given a cursory glance around and about to ensure that the roof was still attached, everyone went back to sleep. Jon discovered the truth after a heroic exploration through the sodden grass and pouring rain of which Dr Livingstone himself would have been proud. A huge branch, weighed down by wet leaves had been ripped from the main trunk of an enormous mountain ash, falling neatly across the stream to make a new and rather charming rustic bridge. Joining him later to inspect the scene and not being a tight-rope walker by profession, I decided to admire its bucolic allure from afar rather than test its engineering strengths.
Yes, rain is necessary but I had rather got used to being outside and smugly checking out my tan. Ok, so the plants look delighted and despite my pacing around like a perimeter guard in a mackintosh, the snails have so far kept off my newly planted cosmos. What pains me and I am pained, are the roses. In the last few days the plants have been covered with generous displays of lovely perfumed flora. This morning as I glanced through that window the stems lay prostrate on the ground surrounded by a sad pile of discarded petals. Oh well, I thought as I returned to throw some more logs on the fire, at least the house is filled with lovely paper ones. Thank goodness for crepe.