Honeysuckle time. This red one has a bit more style than most, a little forward you might say compared to its creamy cousins.
Thee days when our lives were ruled by a diary are no more. And I don't miss them. An old New Yorker cartoon where a couple on a European tour confirm which city they are passing through with the words "if it's Tuesday, it must be Lisbon," comes to mind. I remember this when I consider how I can often I know what day it is because of a routine occurrence. Sam, who helps us with the house work, is here, so it must be Thursday. Keith telephones so it must be Tuesday. The postman is early, so it must be Saturday.
Butterflies are so scarce nowadays that when you see one you draw attention to it. Look a butterfly, you say, as in the Scottish Highlands , you would say, look a golden eagle. A sad decline.
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