There is something rather magical about coming home at ten thirty in the nighttime and still being able to walk up the garden and see the plants. Having been out for dinner it was lovely to walk the length of the garden, say goodnight to the hens, hello to the neighbour's cat and to take a moment in the haze to look at the outline of the great oak and sniff the scents of the flowers. With one sense (sight) dulled because of the ever diminishing light it seems to enhance the other senses. Hearing an owl - or at four in the morning. the very first voice of the dawn chorus. Smelling the herbs and flowers and catching the warmth in the air. It's a beautiful time of the year and of the day. If only I had taken a drink outdoors with me and spent twenty minutes swinging in the hammock....... the quietest time of my day and a time for reflection.
