On a Sunday morning there is no finer place to be than our garden, especially if the weather is nice as it was yesterday.
The ultimate time to be in amongst the flower beds is at 10:45, this is because that’s when you can hear the church bells from across the valley, now I am not a religious person, but there is something about their peel that is special to me, and this is enhanced if I am digging planting or weeding, I think its something to do with continuity and the passage of time but I can’t be sure; the church tower is Norman, so the bells have been ringing on Sunday mornings for a long, long time. If you stand at the top of our garden, you can just about see the top of the church tower and its flagstaff, the best part of a mile away as the crow flies, but it’s not always been so, a few hundred years ago it was the foresters not the farmers or the gardeners that would have heard the peel of the bells, but not seen the tower, for this area would have been forest, a very different landscape than today.
The weather stayed good all day and I took a walk round the hill just before dusk
The rooks were gathering ready to roost for the night, like they do, and have always have done, for a long, long time, long before the church bells told any one it was Sunday
