Here goes my GBBD virginity…

They’re mainly veg, because that’s what I grow.

Aubergine, Nest Of Eggs

Aubergine, Nest Of Eggs. They're a bit late, but I'm still hoping for fruit

Aubergine flowers, Violetta Lunga

Aubergine, Violetta Lunga: These are fruiting well - long purple sausages - but still plenty more flowers.

scarlet marigolds

What! A flower that won't bear fruit? What's the use of that? The marigolds flower on and on, have kept the aphids off my veg and made the merry little bees buzz with joy, so they're allowed

buttersunflower

yellowsunflower

These make me smile and I can eat the seeds, if other beasts don't get there first

And these will give me soothing camomile tea, in a fruitless bid to make me sleep at the same time as normal people

nasturtium

Lastly, greenfly bait, spicy salad ingredient, and potential caper substitute, if I ever get round to pickling after picking. Though I also want to leave as many of the scarlet flowers as possible to seed.

collecting raindrops

Collecting raindrops: I have to confess to having probably broken the rules, and will most likely be disqualified. While these plants were all flowering this morning, the pictures were not taken today - because it was dark when I got home, and this was happening

Garden Bloggers’ Bloom Day is hosted by Carol at May Dream Gardens

sunflower

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”