For the first time this Summer, the hills on the visible outskirts of town are hidden with a mist which promises to turn into sunshine. Yes, we are moving into that time when the competition between bloggers to be the first to quote some old playwright begins to niggle in the backs of our minds.
So, let's get it over with:
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Wild grapes. - Several years ago I found a vine on the edge of some nearby woodland; I imagine it was the remnant of some ancient, long-lost, vineyard. The vine itself ...
2 hours ago