It's amazing the change around here since we left just over a week ago. It's largely explained by the six inches of water in the bucket outside. It seems there was a monsoon while we were away. A week ago the lawn had large brown patches on it - in fact it was pretty much a large brown patch. Jane asked our nice neighbour opposite if she'd come and water the pots and tomatoes and beans - which she did. But now it looks as though spring has come. The 'lawn' is a verdant green, with a diminishing patch of recovering grass. Mayweed has started flowering on our kerb. The roses and antirrhinums are in bloom and in bud. Tomatoes are abundant; beans hanging over the conservatory. The ponds full. We'd expected Shropshire to be green - and it was, what with all that Welsh rain, as Jane calls it, drizzling over the border. But grey Grove? Well, it's not grey, nor even brown, but green.
It reminds me of Gerard Manley Hopkins, again:
"And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs -
Because the Holy Ghost o'er the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings." (God's Grandeur)
It's good to be home!