It is time to indulge in a little healthy recollection. Let me take you back to a sweltering June day. I was visiting a good friend in Somerset and we had taken a trip to the Bishop’s Palace in Wells. The gardens were bountiful, seemingly not suffering from the unfamiliar sultry weather. From the herbaceous borders to the vegetable gardens all was lush and lovely. There were enough other visitors to make it a sociable occasion but not too many to be intrusive. The heat ensured meandering rather than rushing, enforcing a more leisurely tempo and therefore a more enjoyable journey. Afterwards we rested at the edge of the wide rill, that fed from the spring to the moat, and dangled our appreciative feet in the cool water. Perfect.
A day off. Joyously free of obligations. No chores or distractions, just gardening, wall to wall, guilt free. The dead were removed, the impatient were put in their place, dahlias, sunflowers and cosmos all planted out, a feast for the molluscs. Perhaps I should have laid out a table cloth. The morning may well bring sorrow.