The Wheel Turning.

We’ve reached that point in the year when the verges and hedgerows start giving us signs that summer is half way through its annual bounty. The early cow parsley and hogweed which so dominated verges and field hedges with their white umbrellas have now turned brown and gone to seed. The creamy white meadowsweet blooms are just past their best and losing their scent, while the pink willow herb tucked in among it is reminding us that when they go to seed, the summer will be over. The copious bunches of elder and bramble blossoms have also mostly gone, and in their stead the fruit is beginning to form and offer the prospect of much wine and jam making for those still so inclined in these hedonistic days when life is about lifestyle and self-reliance is but a memory of yesteryear.

My mother used to harvest blackberries and make sufficient blackberry jelly to last through to the following summer. As a child I always saw the pots lined up on the pantry shelves as a sign of poverty because other kids I knew had proper strawberry jam bought from a shop. My, how time and experience does alter one’s perception of values.

And should I remark that, as with summer, so with life? I think I’ve done that one to death if you’ll excuse the pun. (Did I mention that I have my next CT scans booked for this coming Sunday? I think I did.)

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I’m particularly nervous about the prospect of winter this year. This house is far from comfortable in the winter, even though the electricity bills are enormous. Given the recent price rises and another one in the offing, I fear that this winter is going to require the making of unacceptable sacrifices of one sort or another. Maybe they will finally do me in. I don’t suppose one has to worry about electricity bills once the final curtain has descended.

What I might have to worry about is the question of who to haunt and how to go about it. No doubt some will get the pale face watching them through the window as darkness falls on a winter landscape, while others will hear only a quiet voice singing their children to sleep. The best of them might even find themselves receiving a helping hand in unusual circumstances. Now there’s something to look forward to.