When the heather blooms on the hillsides . . .

Now is the quiet time for the birds.   Down in the woods . . .  where shadows lie deep and dark beneath the heavy canopy of late summer . . . the air rings with silence . . .

It is as if they are storing up their energies for the cooler months which lay just around the corner.   Where now are the little black caps, the whitethroats . . .  the warblers.  Larks hold now their peace . . .  how lonely it seems.



The garden is beginning to look tired now as everything begins to fade in colour.   The white hydrangea which were once a brilliant white are speckled with pinkish spots and the bright pink is turning to dull purple . . .

Seed pods begin to dry and droop . . . the roses turn to hips . . . but pansy still bobs it's pretty little head and dances amidst the lines of fading colour . . .



The plum tree hangs with fruit and it will be a race now to see who gets there first . . .  us or the wasps.   They feast upon cracked plums, clustering thickly around the broken flesh . . . feasting, whilst the apples turn their rosy cheeks to the sun . . .

The fruit on the pear tree hangs, ripening and becoming juicy on overladen branches . . .



Corn stands in the field . . . cut and stacked, ready for the threshers . . . stubble awaiting plough . . .  and on the hillsides there comes a pink and purple and mauve flush as the heather begins to bloom.

This is the hour of maturity . . .  the season of fruiting and fulfilment . . .  of gathering and garnering . . . the crowning of the year.



This weekend is August Bank Holiday.  I am not sure if it is a four day weekend or a three day weekend.   Once you stop work . . .  these things blur into obscurity.  We took Mitzie to the groomers yesterday and she is now looking very pretty, all clipped and plucked and smelling sweet.  She looks like a completely different dog once she's been groomed.   She looked a bit wooly and worn when we took her in and all sleek and shining when she came out.   They were late finishing her and we sat in the car outside for almost an hour waiting.  I was glad that I had bought a pot of jelly beans.

We listened to a cd of rock and roll oldies and tried to guess who was singing which song.  Why must I be a teenager in love . . .  sixteen candles . . .  puppy love.    Most songs are about relationships we concluded . . . either in the hopeful flush of new love or the dankness of forlorn and misbegotten affections.



Mitzie is always quite exhausted when she is done . . .  either that or she is sulking.  She spends the rest of the day in a heap on the sofa, sighing . . . I know it is not her favourite thing and I don't think I would like having my ears plucked either, and so it's extra cuddles all round . . .  and yes, she gets a jelly bean or two as well. 

I think I am going to make some pancakes this morning.  I know Ariana loves them and it is Saturday.  When my kids were growing up Saturday was pancake morning.   As a child we only had them once a year, but I liked to treat my children more often than that.   There is nothing like  a nice stack of hot cakes, butter gilding the top and syrup dripping down the sides to get the weekend off to a good start!    We are having a Ward barbeque at our chapel later today and I have a cake to bake for that as well, so our day will be a busy one and I am off to get it started.

I shall leave you with a thought for the day . . .  

✻ღϠ₡ღ✻(¯`✻´¯) 
           ✻ღϠ`*.¸.*₡ღ¸.✻✻ღϠ₡ღ✻(¯`✻´¯) 
                                                   ✻ღϠ`*.¸.*₡ღ¸.✻

"It is impossible to stand upright when one plants his roots 
in the shifting sands of popular opinion and approval."
~Thomas S Monson    ღ¸.✻✻ღϠ₡ღ✻ღ¸.✻✻ღϠ₡ღ✻  


 


Cooking in The English Kitchen today  . . .  Late Summer Berry Crumble . . . with strawberries, blueberries and raspberries and a surprise ingredient that will have you smacking your lips in anticipation! 

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Have a wonderful Saturday!