Where, dear souls, is this year going? One blinks and finds oneself midway through August already? I really do not know quite where time has gone. 'Tis fair to say that dusk is creepy slowly earlier as each day passes; why, does not seem like yesterday that 'twas light til gone ten in the evening and yet, here we are, with darkness upon us at same time this very eve. Tempts fugit, dear souls, tempts fugit.
As I sit to write this missive, the male guardian is at his professional toil and the rain, yes, rain can be heard drumming upon the external surfaces of our home. ''Tis much needed for the ground remains dry and plants are thirsty. The morrow is also said to bring more rain and touches of thunder, all adding to the feeling of moving on in the season.
The planned works continues on our small estate with workmen booked for the last aspect of our home's upgrade before carpets can be laid, well in time for autumn. Work has commenced on trimming the yew hedges and generally keeping the garden tidy.
The countryside around us has seen a mass of activity to gather the harvest which is now all safely stored. The sounds and smells of harvest time are quite the sweetest and so evocative of one's childhood spent helping on the farm. Oh, how I do love it.
L
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