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I took a couple of strolls around the garden with a camera this morning. Sculpture Florence turned her back on the early light streaming from the Rose Garden.
Overnight rain had refreshed fuchsias, geraniums, hydrangeas, and dahlias, in one of which
a bedraggled bee risked drowning.
Our red hot pokers are over now, but other kniphofias of more autumnal hues stand erect in the Weeping Birch and other beds.
White solanum continues to drape itself over the dead tree beside the New Bed.
Spiders lurk everywhere. Look closely at the close-up of the hanging basket at the corner of the Phantom Path.
This afternoon Jackie drove me into the forest.
Along the Rhinefield Road a rather young foal foraged far from his parent who looked to be away in the distance.
A little further along a forest sprite impersonated the upper section of a dead tree escaping the clutches of its parent body.
Along the Rhinefield Ornamental Drive dry layers of fallen leaves and pine cones offered a spring to my step and to those of a lone walker. A carved cone marked a route.
Passing the trough on Wootton Common we noticed that it was surrounded by cattle vying for a drink. By the time we had turned round to park the car near the animals, they were all trooping off along the moor.
Ah, not quite all. Just one diminutive creature had been left behind. In vain did this Marshmallow cow, time and again, circle the trough attempting to slake her thirst. Even her neck was just too short. Eventually she hit on a super wheeze. She tried the human spout. I wonder if the next two-legged drinkers will have any idea about who had preceded them.
This evening the three of dined on Jackie’s roast beef; Yorkshire pudding; pigs in blankets; roast potatoes, sweet and normal; crunchy carrots, tender runner beans; and gravy solid with onions and mushrooms. Elizabeth and I drank La vieille ferme 2017, while the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden.