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.