Sunday Morning Meditation

I awoke early, before anyone else this morning. On the rare occasions this happens, I normally sigh deeply and snuggle back down, but today I felt drawn to the peace and stillness of this Sunday morn.  It was already warm in the sun, but with just that hint of sharpness in the air - the next season waiting in the wings.
I had a leisurely wander around the garden with my camera, trying to capture the late summer feeling - and it is, still summer - for just a little while.
I watched the hens devouring their breakfast - their bright red combs bobbing up and down.  Further along on the lavender hedge, a bumble bee was already hard at work, gathering the winter stores.

 I pass apple and plum trees laden with fruit - ready to be preserved for our own winter storecupboard.

 Garlic is already strung up in bunches to dry, and I stop to pick a tangle of french beans for our Sunday lunch.  The rowan berries are abundant this year - I always mean to make some rowan jelly, but never get around to it.  Maybe this year - surely the birds won't miss a few?

 Our sunflowers are late this year - nonetheless welcome for that.  I love the burnished colour of this one - still making up her mind whether to bloom or not - I think she will.  Purple podded peas hang on the vine, where they will dry and later be shelled into jars for winter use, and I stop by a drift of heady sweet peas and bright cornflowers - still enough for a jug or two yet.

Tomatoes drip off the vines - a daily harvest.  These plum tomatoes are loving this sunny weather and will ripen soon enough - plenty of time.  As I walk back down the path, shy violet peeps out - "I'm here" she whispers.  The herb beds by the conservatory door are bursting with seeds, soon to be saved in paper envelopes for another garden next year.

I sit down on the step, mug of tea in hand and watch the swallows cavorting joyfully in this blue Sunday sky.
They are here, still...