Brown and parched....

For many, our summer has been a celebration of sunshine, the harvest golden, ripe and safely gathered in. However the words of Blake do mock us in reference to our green and pleasant land for, dear reader, it has to be said we are more "brown and parched" than "green and pleasant". A little short sharp downpour finally ensued over parts of our rural county last evening but not nearly enough to create the lush and verdant picture we are so used to. Never fear, my dears, for English weather is a law unto its self and the three day forecast is looking somewhat damp, to say the least, with warnings of sharp blustery showers. Time will tell dear souls but memories of '76 abound and we wait with bated breath, for changeable is a word perhaps closely associated with English weather and for which we are famous. As my guardian writes, the sound of farm machinery abounds, why the farmer across the lane has commenced preparation for the next phase for the hundred acre field, a sure sign of advancing seasons.

Yesterday evening, my lady guardian and I were fortunate to espy a green woodpecker upon the garden path enjoying a light snack of ants; such beautiful plumage, such an enchanting call. We do so admire the local wildlife.