Garden Colour

“To-day I think
Only with scents, - scents dead leaves yield,
And bracken, and wild carrot’s seed,
And the square mustard field;

Odours that rise
When the spade wounds the root of tree,
Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed,
Rhubarb or celery;

The smoke’s smell, too,
Flowing from where a bonfire burns
The dead, the waste, the dangerous,
And all to sweetness turns.

It is enough
To smell, to crumble the dark earth,
While the robin sings over again
Sad songs of Autumn mirth.”

— Edward Thomas

Whilst autumn has arrived around here, its not really at full stretch in the countryside yet. The native trees are still to reveal themselves in their full glory and its early to be crunching leaves underfoot. In the garden, however, things are a bit different.

There are browns and golds, seed heads and sedums

pots hanging on by the skin of their teeth.

The colours are glorious, there are rich reds

and pinks

and things that shine

Whether naturally or with the intervention of man. Almost certainly our last autumn here I will savour every moment.