At last! The weather is right for making hay. At least, according to the BBC Weather Map it is, but while a mile away as the crow flies it is burning sun down here in the dip there is a sullen sky. But it is warm and it is fine so we proceed and soon a wonderful smell of hay fills the kitchen as the cut grass begins to dry. That smell never goes and in mid-Winter when the cats bed down in the hay barn on a cold wet day they bed down in the smell of Summer.
At present the cats are not at all happy as their favourite sleeping place - the hay barn - gradually fills up again with bales.
The tree sparrows are still honing their flying skills - taking off in a row from the privet hedge with mother directing operations, they skim over the grass, gradually losing height like overladen little bombers. The pup doesn't like going under their flight path as they almost part her hair.
The swallows in the garage are fledged and learning to fly. We have taken to leaving the car outside - it's either that or give the car a wash every morning.
The wild cranesbill - one of our most common wildflowers up here - is quickly going to seed. It is only when it has gone to seed that you see how aptly named it is.