Every Summer has a story . . .

Over in the meadows which abut the edge of the urban sprawl where we live, the grass has been mown and stacked . . . and the air is sweet with the heavy scent of new hay . . . that is the smell of summer I think . . .




A walk along the River Dee shows us fields which are still uncut and a pass through the gate means a wander through a wavy sea of thigh deep sorrel, moon daisies, faded buttercups and feathery grasses.

 

Meadowsweet, agrimony and ragged robin bloom along the banks of the lane, and the hedgerows sing with garlands of sweet honeysuckle and wild roses.  Lily buds burst upon the surface of our small pond in the back garden . . .



The year is half gone.

For a few more weeks we will uphold the sweet illusion of high summer . . . but alas, gradually . . . bit by bit . . . the songs of the birds will fade into the muted twitterings and they will be about other business.   The woods will hold a feeling of heaviness . . . the deep drowsiness which follows on the heels of fulfillment . . .



There is much still to look forward to however, and to anticipate.  Joys such as the pageantry of the mid-summer garden . . . the blessed harvest of corn and fruit which follow . . . warm days and evenings which, whilst beginning to draw in . . . bit by bit . . . still hum with the song of heated wires, and children's laughter across the playing fields . . . on summer holiday . . .



There is a kind of restlessness that can't be named.   A sense of wanting to be somewhere, do something . . . a wanderlust . . .

A lot depends on the weather.  My heart deeply prays that the rest of the summer will be a beautiful gift of warmth and sunshine . . . but we will take whatever comes.  What choice do we have after-all . . . but to make the best of what we are given . . .



A thought to carry with you through the rest of the day . . . 

In a quiet garden where birds and flowers abound
Speak gently and tready softly,
You walk on holy ground.
For unto every garden God cometh secretly
His presence there disclosing
To all with eyes to see . . .



Cooking in The English Kitchen today . . . Mom's Strawberry Shortcake!  With buttery and flaky Cream Biscuits, fresh berries from the garden . . . clotted cream.  Not for the faint of heart, but still . . . a summer treat not to be missed!

Have a fabulous Wednesday!  Try not to think of me in the Dentist's chair having my tooth pulled!   (Actually please do and say a little prayer of comfort for me too!  Thanks!)