The Quietness of Sundays

A day that threatened rain that didn't come.  I spent the afternoon in the garden, hacking back the hedges and cutting the grass, which in places is eighteen inches tall and has turned a golden colour - grass becoming wheat. It is no longer reasonable to call the grass a 'lawn' so jokingly it is now a meadow or a wild flower garden, although the only flowers at the moment are small purple lavender-type flowers.  The 'lawn' has become 'Welsh prairie gardening'!  I will attack it again soon.  The brambles have taken over in our absence and were ruthlessly cut back, unless they were flowering or had small tight green blackberries on them.  The ley-line lane is the best place in the area for blackberries, apparently, so blackberries are being left. We also found a new gooseberry bush in the cemetery hedge and more raspberries by the writing shed - this autumn the hedges are going to be savagely trimmed.