The continental heat has reached us at last. Goldfinches chatter happily. Flies walk slowly back and forth as if surveying their new domain.
The hydrangea blooms redden on their unobtrusive bush. I think of the wild hydrangeas back home, how they must be glowing in the dark woods.
Seven starlings fly warbling out of the ash tree. I nudge a long slug with my toe to watch it shrink and retract into an invisible shell.
Overcast and humid. An odd-patterned ladybird in the garden turns out to be just an invasive harlequin. I delete the pictures from my phone.
A mouse descends the wall into the garden and makes her way to the pile of brush at the back. A honeybee hovers over a spot of blue paint.
The tall ash tree sways in the wind and the blackbird’s song sways too. R. points out a juvenile blue tit, its markings still a bit blurry.
The mock orange petals have not so much fallen as blown away. The sky darkens. In the next garden, a wood pigeon hoots like an owl.
The new geranium has opened its first two flowers: deep purple trumpets. A bee flies in and swiftly out again, but the rain isn’t as picky.
Sunny, breezy and cool: a classic English summer day. Re-potting a small bay tree, I displace a sleeping snail from the potting soil.
During a bright period, a blackbird gorges on the neighbor’s cherries, swinging from a lower branch, yellow bill drilling the red fruit.