Summery summary

Remember how cold and wet it was in June?

And how much one longed for a bit of warmth to bask in?

Well ha ha ha.

We got it.

That's 114º F.

In the shade.

Not so much basking weather,

as

lurking behind closed shutters

hanging wet towels at windows

freezing towels as compresses

and rediscovering the joys of Uno weather.

Because if you did venture out

it was so blindingly bright

and pulsatingly hot

that even being sensible in the shade

wasn't an option.

There was a lovely pool,

but only one sun umbrella.

Don't be deceived by that cloud.

It never even attempted to shield us from the sun.

The box moth was thriving though.

There were hideous clouds of them

being enjoyed misguidedly by the tourists

in lavender fields.

But these murals were unexpectedly lovely.

And being awake early one morning

I heard a roaring sound and to my astonishment

saw this -

Since returning to a land of wholly acceptable variants 

on normal summer temperatures

I have been grateful for the ability to think, move around freely and sleep.

The grandchildren had meanwhile surely grown 

more than a week's absence could have made possible.

One of them having clocked up his first year

in the blink of an eye.

Spring corners

It has been the most remarkable year for Mimosa.

It must have been that early February warmth because

I have never seen it flower so abundantly.

I usually miss the moment when a few branches can be found at the florist

but this year it was everywhere, smelling of clean water.

This one was in a scrubby little patch next to some public toilets.

Bonnard had it outside his studio window.

This painting at the  Tate Modern exhibition

made a change from all the ones of his wives

stretched out palely in tepid bathwater.

Gorse and its coordinating This Way sign.

Purple leaved plum, now sadly blown about by recent gales.

Wild garlic.

Banner in a patch of rarely penetrating sunlight.

 A bold decision to paint this dresser top.

Previously preserved in all its knotty, stained, 

multi-nailed original condition for twenty years, 

because it somehow seemed necessary to respect its antique status, 

I suddenly saw it for what it was - ugly.

And it wouldn't be Spring (or Autumn) without observing

that the rainbows are back.

Hold the front page

This Bank Holiday weekend delivered spring and early summer

all rolled into one glorious extravaganza.

The beach,

deserted and sandy for once, raked of its usual shingle layer.

Wisteria.

Rhododendrons.

Azaleas.

Other people's gardens,

open to the public under the National Garden Scheme.

Walks, with dodgy overgrown footpaths

and equally dodgy directions from an ancient guide book

but a bonus discovery

of an abandoned orchard, like a scene from The Secret Garden

with a mysterious gazebo in the middle of nowhere.

 Foliage colour to rival that of autumn

but with added zing and zest,

and finally, a rare treat, the handkerchief tree 

Davidia involucrata in flower

to wave us on our way home.