Yesterday I sat out in the surprisingly warm wind in my back garden (or as the council insist on calling it the park) it was quite lovely. Across the fence from me a family were playing mostly happily. The mother was telling her partner/ brother/ son to pull his trousers up, the family’s caramel covered bull terrier complete with harness was happily pulling a toddler’s trike across the grass by the wheel (what is it with dogs and tyres?). All the while the toddler was happily chasing leaves and whacking the ground with a stick the way the children do.
In the hedge between us was to my mind one of the most elegant trees, a willowy (?) Rowan. Not the proudest specimen but elegant in a scrubby twisted way, it’s precise fractal canopy tricking your eyes as the tiny pinnate leaves make moiré patterns against the blue and cotton bud cloudy sky.
Even to my dodgy colour blind eyes the rowan leaves where fading through beautiful colours from dusty faded green to sour yellow at the tips. The trees branches are laden with clusters of berries, no longer the acid harsh almost fluorescent red of a few weeks ago but a hotch potch of dark reds, browns and mellow oranges; full of ripeness. The ripeness of the fruit attracting in the few minutes I was there several male & female black birds, great and blue tits, also a wren and Jay flew through too. The day must be lucky because even the pigeons are the sleek beautiful type with the glossy plumage of prized racing birds rather than the battered greasy KFC fed examples you often get in town.
It’s a cliché that local wildlife is as good as TV nature programmes but I’m not sure HD TV shots of hungry sharks mauling sea lions quite beat the rustling of the wind in hedge filled with so much colour and movement.
Across the grass a grey squirrel is hoping along , his (he just look a bit more butch ok) perfectly bushy tail doing that wonderful thing where one twitch sends a quiver of motion down its length as every hair reacts in perfect wave.
I know brer grey is much maligned but I doubt his cuter red cousin ever did that well in Deptford and it would hard heart in deed who could take against such poised creature. If only we could hang from our feet head down the trunk and effortlessly look around seemingly without effort or pop up in the grass head twitching like the much more cherished meerkats. This one just now was a beautiful russet browny red as if blushing from forcing out their more loved red story book cousins. And then to further endear itself it acts out more “Autumnwatch” fare by carefully bearing berries in the grass. Looking up as it digs in case anyone spots where here’s hiding his winter snacks.
I do like my garden.
