Another year in the middle of June, I’d have said the weather was disappointing today. But this year, this June, the sight of the sun trying to edge its way through the clouds made me think, ” Oh, it’s a nice day today.” And in the end, by early afternoon it was a lovely day of blue skies and warm sunshine. My washing dried on the line, MasterB retreated to the shade under the garden seat, and is now outside hunting in the still warm air.
I am working on a theory to do with the weather. It is 15th June, mid-summer. Outside there’s a fresh breeze, intermittent sunshine, the hint of a shower. March weather. Now think back to March of this year: sunshine, warm weather, verging on hot. June weather.
Somewhere out in meteorological land, the two months have swapped places. I cannot explain May, except perhaps it had an adolescent sulk about what the others were doing. April was bang on target if I remember rightly; lots of showers, windy, unpredictable moments of sunshine. Continue reading
When I was East a month ago, the poppies were just starting, and it was a delight to spot them in the verges along the journey. By the end of June they are flaunting themselves extravagantly across the countryside. The pink ones I saw in a Passing Place looked like some domesticated variety that has gone native. There is something so joyous about them, I’m not surprised that painting by Monet is so very popular. I like the way they defy a desire to pick them and place them in a vase by gracefully falling apart if removed from their habitat. That seems to signal a steely resolve, a stubborn streak, in a deceptively fragile flower.
I’ve just been downloading my photos and looking at them. Time for a couple of Cat from this weekend. the first yesterday evening, while it was still light and before the Invasion of the Bugs; the second from this morning when he decided the table where I was planning to have my breakfast was a good spot to sleep.