mountainear

Where's my blogging mojo gone?

Time and events have taken over - some stories are not mine to tell; while the Glam. Ass. somewhat cavalierly waved his bandaged and un-bandaged paw at the camera and said 'Go on, photograph this then' it didn't seem quite right. Too, too intrusive.  I think it will suffice to say: 1. Don't argue with a circular saw and expect to win. 2. I am surprisingly unsqueamish and calm in a crisis and 3. He's doing very well, thank you.

The last two weeks have seen a lot of driving to and from the hospital in Shrewsbury and I suppose in the scale of things that's small beer. Today the splint was removed and with it came a tad more mobility for the GA. He is without most of a little finger but it continues to haunt him. The other fingers are mending and he is desperate to regain normal function; the stuff we take for granted - the miracle of co-ordination that is the human hand. I can hear him clettering the supper dishes (and my ear is cocked for a cack-handed crash) but it will take a while.

Enough of that and a few anodine observations instead.

The last of the summer's crops are ready to be gathered in. The little orchard has apples and pears and the are quince in abundance. I have my own harvest festival moment.

There is mince meat to be made - the kitchen fills with the scent of apples and spices. The recipe is from the sainted Delia's Christmas Collection.

 

The weather has been surprisingly good but on the day we visited Powis Castle the clouds descended around our ears. We walked amongst the autumn borders - still colourful with late flowering perennials. In a rather orderly orchard apples and pears hung heavily on old and closely pruned trees underplanted with low growing herbs, stachys and the ophiopogon nigrescens. It's such a neat garden; closely clipped grass, yew and topiary, borders contained by box hedging. I've visited in summer too and even when the season is at its most flamboyant there is barely a leaf out of place.

 

Only outside the garden can nature take hold; up in the faintly disheveled parkland that surrounds Powis, from midst the underbrush of bramble and bracken - out of the misty distance - came the roar of stags - an eerie sound which sent shivers up spines. Later in the day skeins of geese flew in, honking as they flapped across the valley where the Severn winds.

Today? The small mountain kingdom of Trelystan is washed in golden light right now, all aglow. We have yellow and red and russett. Great fluffy clouds scud across a blue sky. It looks as if there might be some warmth in the sun - don't be deceived - it's chilly out there.

Time to light the log burner and watch the flames.