After some days of rain and cloud, today has been glorious, but (as quite a number of people have said, meeting in the streets of Swanage) it is so cold. Cool is probably nearer the mark, or, as my mother-in-law would have said it’s fresh.
Autumn it is. In that glorious, low-in-the-sky sun the late red admirals and hummingbird hawk moths seem to positively glow with energy and colour. We are putting in daffodils and taking out vegetables; pruning back bushes and cutting into the rank growth of summer; collecting fallen apples and planning for next year.
The soli is perfect for digging and bulbs and seeds take happily to its damp darkness. I am saving runner bean seed now, and have enough peas for a row next year, in a paper bag by the bed. The experts say to store it in an airtight container. I find paper bags appeal more. The seeds rustle and can breathe. Maybe it is me imagining things, but I like to feel that the pulse of life in those dried peas is open to the air.