I am sitting here watching the garden. I’m tucked up snug in our conservatory while the rain is falling on the Perspex roof. It always sounds worse than it actually is, a little drizzle sounds torrential, a heavy shower like a monsoon. Today we’re somewhere between torrent and monsoon, probably nearer the lower end of the scale.
I like just watching, I can see the birds coming and going. Just now there were four Long-tailed tits in the Birch tree, as well as a blackbird, magpie and sparrow. The Birch is quite mature, so I suspect it affords a degree of respite from the otherwise wet outside its canopy.
The rain means I won’t have to do much watering tonight, just the tomatoes. This year we’ve had a little more success that last including a variety of black-cherry. Yes that’s right black-cherry tomatoes, and they really are black, or at least a very, very dark purple and they have a magnificent taste. Simply go to the potting shed, pick one warm from the bush and consume. There is something wickedly decadent about eating a warm tomato straight from the bush, no third party involved.
I can see the subtle feather like leaves of our mimosa tree. When we first moved in there was one close to the garage, but it died back. I think it might have been struck by lightning; it has a suspicious dark line and split in the bark from top to ground. Now it just acts as a glorified bird feeder, home to a feeder full of nyger seed for goldfinches, who love it. Its replacement sits in a pot, only four feet high, and will probably stay in a pot for the foreseeable future at least.
Wet Sunday, watching the Small Suburban Garden.