I'm sort of glad that cool nights and mild days are still with us; in some parts, the descent from the crisp mornings of April and May to the horrors of 85 or 90+ comes quickly, and my memory of a blood-red sun hanging on the horizon with the promise of a pollen-laden, humid work-day amidst stricken plants under a breeze-less sky is best forgotten at this time. Maybe, just maybe, a mild winter will in turn lead to a mild summer, or so we wish, perhaps knowing quite well that the Farmer's Almanac predicts otherwise. I frequently wonder at those who choose to live in states such as Nevada, Texas, and Arizona where rains are sparse, temperatures soar into the 100s, and daily life is limited to the confines of a cooled home, air-conditioned vehicle, or brief nocturnal jaunts in search of entertainment or distraction.
Near the kitchen table in my childhood home, where most breakfasts and lunches were eaten, customarily hung a wall calendar featuring English (and Welsh) country villages, invariably filled with charming cottage gardens of phlox, columbines, climbing roses and so forth, brightly-colored doorways and thatched roofs. If I had been asked to describe paradise, I'm sure I would have pointed to such an image, where an idyllic life is filled with endless cups of tea, countless plates of scones-with-fresh-cream/sizzling sausages/soft-boiled eggs, friendly dogs, and adventures such as those experienced by The Secret Seven or Famous Five (young protagonists who turned every holiday into a suspenseful drama from the first page to the last). Notwithstanding that today's visual treat is located in Sweden, pleasant memories like sweet porridge, buttered-toast, and BBC radio-serials came flooding upon me at first sight of this summer-cottage, (hypothetically) situated somewhere between heaven and the midnight-sun.
Hope you are all having a great day, especially our blog readers in Wales.