The lavender in the pot by the kitchen door is wild with flowers. Such an old-fashioned scent, of grandmothers, National Trust gift shops, and those little fabric sachets, filled with lavender flowers and edged with lace, that I used to make when I was young to put under the pillow to help you sleep. I like to rub a leaf between my fingers to release the scented oils when I pass by… the rosemary, mint and fennel too.
We made lemonade today, squeezing fresh lemons and adding a little sugar (I am sure Emily sneaked some more sugar in when I wasn’t looking!) vanilla extract and water. A real taste of summer in spite of the weather.
While walking through the village earlier, I noticed the bark on the trees, how different they all are. The patterns, the textures, the knots and whorls. The silver birches, the rough dark oaks, the smoother taupes, and tawny greys, mottled with yellow and white lichens. Each square foot or inch even, if magnified, an incredible work of art.