Slow wind brushes on rain-soft earth and we hear none of it.
We take breakfast at noon before walking to the river.
Green threads stickle the field that was bare brown three days earlier.
Pheasants and moorhens throw themselves up into flight.
Down by the river grows an invasive weed, I've read the seed is edible.
Mr and I take each a bag, indulge in some eco-friendly vandalism.
We say how fast the water goes and look, where I crossed, was it last week, now it is thigh high, it would fill your boots and shove you.
Two bags full and we are weary again.
At home is coffee, some sneaked chocolate.
Foraged goods are dropped in the larder cupboard, for experiments at later dates.
I write. The others do… stuff.
Food cooks, and goes wrong. Hungry, we eat and shrug.
Next time, choose stock cube or salt not both: next time, get the water to boil before fresh pasta drops and sticks. Hey-ho.
Outside the moon rises, circular, silver.
We mooch about, mostly contented. Melon ice cream waits in the freezer.
It's one of those days, drowsy, where nothing much seems to happen. We like it.
|A short lecture on the Himalayan Balsam:|
Beautiful but overpowering the local flora.
Seed pods explode amusingly- but that's how it spreads so fast and thick.
If you see it and you're not in the Himalayas, look out!