More Rain

More rain

In just one week the honeysuckle I planted twelve years ago has started to flower against the front door and the foxglove spikes now are suddenly standing proud and pink in the borders.
The air is filled the smell of grass.
The Churchyard has just experienced its infrequent mow
Through the bedroom window I noticed a woman pointing to the cottage wall. She and a companion shielded from the rain by yellow macs.
They weren't villagers.
I know most of the locals , even when camouflaged by over sized kagools.

I went out to check what they were pointing at
It was a delicate poppy hanging on against the limestone.
The waft of the farm tractors had not managed to dislodge it as yet even though the rain had flattened its petals somewhat.

I photographed it with my phone, just as the two women returned into view.
One of them asked me if I could send her the poppy photo and I did there and then.
"A memory of A Wet North Wales" she said happily