I am sitting on a wooden slatted bench complete with lichens; in the shade today as it is 26.5°C and that’s warm for Cornwall. The wind is sloughing through the trees above and opposite me, pigeons cooing. I have a book with me for a change and I will read in a moment or two, but for now I am happy to simply sit and listen to the sounds around me.
The crunch of gravel warns me of people approaching along the path, snippets of conversation are overheard. Whining children, distracted parents, someone looking for a dog that has apparently escaped from off the ferry and run into the garden. Two small toy dogs are dragged along the path, one permanently on its side. Pink sunhats match pink sandals. They continue their chattering journey through the garden. I am left once more in silence.
These poor Cornish gardens are being hit hard by the weather conditions this year. First the unwelcome snow (first in three decades this far west) followed by the current unusual heatwave. The Hydrangeas are drooping and wilting in the heat. Looking very sorry for themselves. Petal edges curling up in disgust.
I hear the clang of the chains from the King Harry ferry just a few hundred yards away taking cars and people over to the Roseland peninsula. One day I will do that. For now though I stretch my bare feet in front of me as I write in my notebook.
~wander.essence~ | prose