Midsummer Meadow

I feel heartsore for Stonehenge, and find that behaviour frightening; targeting a new bride, an ancient monument with rare lichens.  Who even thinks that up?  What sort of people are they?  I feel alternately vengeful, then sad.  At least most papers kept them out of headlines.  How to let go, leave the law to deal with them?

An afternoon at Gordon Castle Walled Garden, see how the wild flower meadow is coming along. 

The cold spell has held a lot of plants back, although the trees appear to have forged ahead.  There will still be a bumper crop this year; apples, pears, peas and beans.  The lettuces are twice the size since last visit.  The roses and alliums have taken a battering.  I asked if I could take three broken alliums, to press and use for making cyanotypes.  They really are lovely there, and said that would be fine.  I got some rosemary clippings too; the gardeners were trimming it to a rounded rolling hedge, clippings scenting the whole pathway.

Craving stillness, sat on ‘The Listening Bench’ under ancient plum trees, breathing, listening, searching calm, forgiving calm.  Peep of the oystercatcher who has set up home.  Very many, happy blackbirds.  Bees.  Breeze and woodpigeons muting through the ancients, who stand outside the garden wall.  Sound as round as a wooden wind chime.  Centuries old pine, cypress, oak and beech.  Their dark green swaying-wisdom watching over the garden, essential Elementals.

On the way home, bought some terra-cotta flower pots, caramel ‘Freddos’, and filled the car up with petrol.  Had started feeling disheartened again, must there always be some idiot to shit over everything.  Up here, it’s seagulls, shitting over cars.  Spritzed up car, and mood, with a vigorous car-wash jig. 

Sunshiny sea breeze making rainbows of spray.

Refreshing me as well. 

Images for this journal have been posted on Insta @purplehaze_journals