It's been a damp week. The rain is welcome. The slithery paths are not. The paths are treacherous, stony and steep.I take a walking stick in either hand in a bid to stay upright. There are easier places to walk but not ones far from other people and their dogs.
What Jones wanted to illustrate was the rainbow of flowers in a field close by.
The Lavender Hill mob on patrol.
In a rocky nook that only we know about, a delight of tongue orchids blooms each spring. They're the delicate little fellows to the right. The pink jobs on the left are known as the Cuckoo's Trousers. This is our treasure trove.
The orphan sisters are inseparable. When the sun's out, they cuddle together near the front gate - whether to improve their tans or get in the first bark at the approach of strangers.
At night and when it's raining, they prefer a bed by the fire. They used to snuggle in with room to spare. No longer! The good life has started to tell, a situation we humans know only too well.
It's not musical chairs but first come first served. Our "no dogs on chairs" policy was heavily outvoted years ago. We cover the leather cushions with old carpets to protect them.
The poppies give promise of a better world elsewhere. They're not saying where. For my part, I'm leaving my story to the pictures again this week while my muse is away.
That's the corner of our balcony bottom-left. Espargal has vanished in the cloud. I've had to use my fog lights while driving in the murk.
Here Jones is again, never happier than among flowers. We have both spent hours clearing the garden, especially of stinging nettles and whirlagigs with prickly hand-grenade seeds. Barbara says that if we remove the bad things often enough, eventually only the good things will remain. Will we then be around to enjoy them I wonder?
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