The Illusionist
Summer must be sliding in behind us, slowly turning up the dial.
Primroses over-bloom, droop, even the bluebells are heavy.
Elderflower buds besieged by black-fly.
The lawn cut one minute and replacing every daisy head, every pimpernel, every dandelion with great sleight of hand.
Bees are in on it, prepared.
I am running for the hosepipe, feeling hypnotised. Azalea pink, chive flower purple, the fine stripes on citrine gooseberries - such awe is struck, such spectacle, such skill.
Take an interval in the hammock, the silky hot hammock, too hot for a blanket this time - see how it is as though one could take a butterknife and slice through anything - until the breeze comes, draws across, makes a cooled crust.
Comments
Summer's sliding in here, too. We've already had several days above ninety degrees. Lots of rain, too, so our grass... or in our case, the weeds... are growing faster than we can push the lawn mower. (Growing like weeds, you might say...)