May

I love May.

The garden is utterly gorgeous this week.

The walnut, not yet fully out, casts a rippling dappled shade, and the apple blossom is a sight to behold. Every little breeze sends a sprinkle of petals down to adorn the lawn.

(I say lawn, but I shouldn't. Lawn conjures up something fine and British. Something cared for, something to be proud of.

Ours is definitely just grass. Grass and unsightly bare patches. Grass, bare patches and dandelions.)

Even the trampoline looks pretty with it's petal blanket.

The Lilac is doing it's thing too, and the purple iris, acid green box, luminous orange Calendula combo almost hurts the eyes.

Over in the greenhouse my bean and brocolli babies are almost ready to leave the nest for the allotment. I'll miss them when they're gone - we've had some lovely quiet cups of tea together; but I'll get over it, and, unlike real children, I can plant new ones every year.

Up on the roof, the solar panel has been working overtime, registering temperatures in the high 70's, so we have not used the boiler for over a week.

Saturday saw the first braai of the year - (We call it that because Caryn does. She's South African. She and Neil showed us that bar-b-que's don't have to be charred sausages. They can be things of beauty. It was quite a revelation to us bar-b-phobes, which prompted a lifestyle shift. Serious stuff.)

Sunday was a pic-nic at the seaside.

This is the first year that D has not been afraid of the sea.

On the one hand we don't have to put up with the constant crying, and refusal to leave the rug, but on the other, she's in it the whole time, and someone has to be on permanent lifeguard duty.

Swings and roundabouts.

I did optimistically take my book, but it remained in the bag, unread.

I'm not complaining - I wish these May days could go on forever.