I hoped to get some seed from this dwarf sunflower, but something else had the same idea, and it vanished overnight. Only a gnawed stalk was left.
Just like the one post I previously found time to write this week, but which WordPress has devoured and refuses to regurgitate. I’ve been working long hours for the last fortnight and have hardly seen the garden – no time to be outside, and no time to blog – so I resent the thefts, both inside and out.

Last time I was outside I was harvesting the bounty of a Mediterranean paradise. Now I find sharp breezes whipping the colour from the leaves, and the dank has coiled out from the  earth and is pulling the lush leaves down into brown decay.

In a few days I’ll be relishing autumn: the breezes will be crisp, not sharp, the fading leaves will be vivid new colours and I’ll bury my nose in the earthy rot smell with satisfaction. But for now I feel like I missed the last days of summer, and instead of the gradual shift of the seasons, it’s like the shock of seeing a long-absent friend and realising they’ve aged.

“O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until”