I filled up the nyjer seed container and within twenty minutes the goldfinches were back. Where do they come from? How do they know? They look so stunning, like over-made up Geishas bustling
into the garden, giggling and flapping and flicking their fans. In flight they bounce and tinkle like tiny
bells, so delicate, like butter wouldn’t melt. But when they reach the feeder, they show
another side - squabbling, flicking their golden wings, crimson faces shrieking
at each other.
I pulled my one and only pumpkin, the one the slugs didn’t
get. It’s smaller than I’d hoped for
but it’s the colour of the sun and as soup, will warm us on an ice-blue day.
I’m still picking raspberries for breakfast. With thick
yoghurt drenched in Greek honey, they bring back spring on the island of Spetses.
There’s one sunflower left. Who put it there, right in the middle of the path? Not me. With curling petals and crispy leaves, it’s looking past its best but I’ll
leave it for the birds, the seeds will give them sustenance when the days get
shorter.
I’ve left the plastic windmill to spin. It didn’t stop the birds from eating my lollo
rosso seedlings but I love the whirring sound it makes on these windy autumn
days.