Wednesday thoughts . . .

All is quiet now down in the woods  . . .  where shadows lie darkly beneath the heavy foliage of late summer  . . .

Where now the black cap, the whitethroat . . .  the warbler?   The lark too, how holds it's peace.  How lonely the woodlands and downs seem without their cries.



The boughs of our apple tree hang heavy with fruit  . . .  their rounded red cheeks turned to the waning heat of the sun, while wasps cluster thickly over cracked purple plums, seeking their pleasure . . . pears hang ripe and juicy on over laden branches . . .

The hedgerows are filled to overflowing with the makings of a hedgerow jelly . . . hips and haws, blackberries . . . 



In wide open fields, corn stands ready for the dance of the threshers, cut and stacked and in others . . .  stubble lays awaiting the farmer's plough.

Heather carpets the moors and commons in beautiful shades of mauve and pink . . .  purple.

And in my garden, roses bud for a second blooming.   This is the hour of maturity . . .  the season of fruiting and fulfillment, of garnering and gathering in.



Our hearts are tender this morning at the news of a loss in the family.   One of my cousins has passed suddenly and far too soon.  I had not seen nor spoken to him in years and yet tears flow.   He was one of my mother's favourites and my beloved Aunt Freda's youngest boy.   Son . . . brother . . .  nephew . . .  cousin . . .  friend.  I can still remember the excitement of his birth.  I was thirteen.  He was a beautiful blonde little urchin.  May he find in his rest the peace which he sought, cradled now in the arms of his mother whose loss he keenly felt  . . . God be with you John John.  'Til we meet again.



Cooking in The English Kitchen today  . . .  Chicken with Goats Cheese and Chutney.

Wherever you go today and whatever you get up to, n'er forget . . .


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And I do too.