A few days of near-perfect weather and along with the Dame's Rocket extravaganza (see below), we have fringes of blue forget-me-not-type flora bordering the road
and the stream that runs under it.
Early mornings, before the lawnmowers start up (and in between pickup trucks thundering up and down, always in a hurry) are blissful, the sun dappling the leaves. Just varied birdsong and the kissing-sound of chipmunks raising the alarm. It is, apparently, a bumper good year for chipmunks. The bleeding heart is actually in the black garden but it's looking good.
I could swear I saw some of these yellow iris-type flowers on Wimbledon Common.
The call this Queen Anne's Lace around here.
And it's back to the fog lying prettily in the valley.
Now who's this, waddling by the side of the road?
A concerned couple stopped their car and we had a discussion. It is definitely not, as you might think in Britain, someone's pet tortoise. It is, the lady assured me, a snapping turtle, who had chosen probably the most stupid spot in the county to lay her eggs. The next day she was gone. I hope she thought better of it. I didn't mention that, a couple of years ago. I came to the rescue of a small turtle crossing the road and plonked it in the stream behind our house. I did put on my thick gardening gloves. This was probably an entirely wrong-headed thing to do but I'm just an ignorant foreigner - and a townie at that.
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