The garden that grew by itself

 It's a dream come true. I sometimes think I should give up on my bach garden, at least over summer, because if I'm away too long the soil dries out and the plants die. But this year, with rain every week of the summer, my dear little plants have grown into vigorous big ones, and look at this! A little pumpkin is forming, under the leaves,

 and the tiny red lettuces that I tucked into the soil are waving their frilly leaves, saying 'eat me!' (I did). Down to the left, lots of little rocket plants have sprung up from the seed mix that I hopefully tossed into the earth on the day I left. And marigolds everywhere are flowering, supposedly keeping the bugs away.

 Parsley has popped up on the steps,

 and a sweet basil plant, which a friend planted when she was staying out there, is burgeoning.

 Zinnias are doing really well. I planted them for the first time, because their petals can be sprinkled through the salad greens, bringing brightness and good cheer.

And here it is - fresh carrots straight from the garden to the grater, lettuce, rocket, basil, thyme, marjoram, with only the capsicum not grown by me. Eating this salad was pure pleasure.
When I was teaching Environmental Studies back in the '80s, we had a slogan about how you can't rob nature: 'There's no such thing as a free lunch.' Well, today there was!
Thank you, summer rain.
P.S. I did have a lot of weeding to do, but I didn't mind at all.

Sociable species

The morning Tai Chi by the sea begins, with a lone seagull on the roof, and a lone shag on the boat ramp.

 It's a long boat ramp, with plenty of room. But where does the second shag land? Why, right beside the other one.

 Then she decides she would prefer to sit on the other side. So she crosses over,

 and flaps her wings to dry them out after swimming and diving for fish

The other shag is unperturbed. She must be used to the fact that they perch together. Its a little bit like the herding instinct that leads humans in an empty carpark to park alongside each other.

It's friendly and companionable. It must go back to some ancient instinct of safety in numbers.

The newcomer starts preening now, and soon will settle down alongside the other one. Patiently they will rest and dry out in the sun.
Meanwhile I do my Tai Chi moves. As I spread my arms out and draw them back, I think of it as 'Drying one's wings', and as I do the final move, it becomes, 'patient like a shag'.

First swim!

I blush. It took till the 7th of February, when the day was bright and warm and it felt that yes, summer really has arrived, before I took my first swim.

I lay on the beach at the end of the day with two friends. Two more, on the water, showed us how it's done (I've forgotten, it's been so long). In I plunged. And it was warm, apart from little nips of cold around the ankles from time to time.
I can't remember a summer when I haven't been in the sea in December, or at the latest, January. But this summer has been a tease, with plenty of rain, clouds, and cool winds. Now that I've taken the plunge at last, I can't wait to do it again. But today isn't so tempting, and the tide is a bit too far out, so maybe tomorrow . . . (sigh).

Morning light

 The mornings are cooler now, down at the jetty. I'm noticing the diminishing light now that we've reached the half-way point between summer solstice and autumn equinox. But the quality of the light has become magical, bringing new beauty to this familiar spot as the tide laps against the shore.

 No shags on the boat ramp. All is still.

 Silent and empty.

Utter peace.

Spreading one's wings

 Mother shag is there again as I practise the Tai Chi movement 'Spreading one's wings'. She joins me.

 Then she rises up on her feet, just as I am doing,

 and sinks down again, with her wings still outstretched.

 Then suddenly, she is gone. I just manage to catch her in flight, with her tail feathers thrust up for balance.

 She descends,

and lands on the water, where she swims like a duck, patiently searching for more fish.
I have finished spreading my wings, and return to my study to fish for inspiration as I continue my writing.

City sky

 I was sad to leave the bach and its magical skies. But look at this: here in the city, the scudding clouds that keep the sun away by day, create patterns of light in the evening.

The wonder of nature is everywhere.

First Fruits Reflections

Today, February 2, is our First Fruits Festival.
It is exactly half-way between Summer Solstice and Autumn Equinox.
While there is still plenty of light, the darkness is increasing.
This is the time (in the Southern Hemisphere) of the Celtic Festival of Lugnasad, held in honour of the grain god Lugh, who was sacrificed with the reaping of the crop.

The Christian harvest festival of Lammas followed Lugnasad, retaining the age-old flavour of celebration of harvest.
Berries and fruit are abundant now, and the grain is ripe. But for Maori, their staple food the kumara still needed time in the ground, so this was Te Waru, the lean time.

Reflecting on these discrepancies, I am reminded how abundance is still not distributed evenly in our world, and even as I celebrated the fullness of First Fruits, there are many others for whom times are lean.