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August 31
Summer changes into autumn. The mulberries have now all gone
although a few hard red unripened fruit remain, but their flocks of
starlings and blackbirds have gone and the garden is quiet, except for
the chirruping of chaffinches. They were flitting about under the
canopy of the Mulberry which is a very lovely place, especially now as
the leaves begin to turn yellow. The lawn continues to produce
puffballs, some of which today I picked and had for breakfast, bland
compared to mushrooms are perfectly acceptable. Also on the lawn, the
mummified head of a dog, or perhaps it was a fox. Very strange.
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August 25
The rain came in as the day progressed and as I came back
from my walk around the park I saw this apple perched on the top of the
garden gate. Closer inspection revealed the bite marks which are
obviously those of a squirrel which I have often seen carrying apples,
potatoes and even mangoes
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August 23
Overnight heavy rain and today strong winds with squally
showers. The garden felt bleak and cold, although it is still humid and
when the clouds were blown away the sun was bright. The blackberries
are beginning to rot on the bushes, but the Michaelmas Daisies are
bringing spots of color to the garden as it turns over into autumn. All
the plums have disappeared from the tree before any tasting could take
place
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August 20
I enjoyed some quality time with the cat this morning in the
garden who was very attentive. But like me she is always keeping her
eyes open for what is happening in the garden, even if her even if her
intentions are more carnivorous than mine.
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August 19
The law has been mown and now has a garden party smoothness
to it. In the process my puffballs were obliterated and are now nothing
more than white smudges on the green carpet.
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August 18
Yesterday was cold and wet with a close gray sky making
autumn feel very near. The white buds of puffballs had reappeared on
the lawn and my eye was drawn to the yellowing elder tree which looks
as if it is dying. But this morning the sun was bright and the sky was
blue. The puffballs had swollen into shiny white golf balls as if they
were nestling in the rough at St. Andrews and we are in summer once
more.
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August 16
An unsettled weekend feeling distinctly autumnal. The
Mulberry's are beginning to turn and rot on the tree but the
blackberries are abundant in the plums beginning to ripen. A blackbird
wing on the lawn, a victim, no doubt of the rectory cat. A curious
trail of white circles on our lawn this morning, which look like polo
mints but how they got there I've no idea.
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August 11
Although the weather is unsettled with many showers of rain
and the occasional wet day, the Mulberry tree is working its summer
magic. Sorbet has been made from its fruits and everyone who visits is
invited into the Mulberry experience. A few refuse but most are seduced
by the black ripeness. On a warm afternoon the garden is full of
insects and they are particularly attracted to the Mimosa which is
alive with buzzing life. Deeper in the garden the plums are swelling and ripening.
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August 9
A warm day in the garden. The Mulberry tree is abundant this
year and I take the stepladder to gather its abundant fruits. But it
also brings death. I found the carcass of a wood pigeon on the lawn
today, probably killed by the rectory cat who has been lurking around
the tree. The carcass was covered in greenbottles thronging its
bloodied flesh.
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August 4
Today rain. Not all day but persistent heavy showers all
through the day. I had forgotten what it was like. I didn't go out but
peered at the garden through the window glass and felt cold.
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August 3
The garden remains full of blackbirds and mulberries. The
blackbirds are very keen on a bit of sunbathing, this one stretched out
on our garden fence
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August 2
Coming out into the garden and again there is a flurry of
birds fleeing through the undergrowth. Today one popped up onto the
fence and then into the holly tree which was slim and dark, maybe a
Garden Warbler. What else it could be I cannot think. With the school
having finished the builders have once more moved in at the bottom of
the garden and they generate a profusion of weird sounds, screeching
and straining in a most peculiar way as if they were torturing some
poor building. At this time of the year, with the undergrowth at its
most luxuriant, the sacred offerings from over the wall tend not to be
so visible. But today a tiny bottle of Bell's whiskey appeared
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