In a Rose Garden
I have not been having a good week, feeling rather feverish and tired, and full of dread and bad dreams. But I think it was just the close thundery weather, and a lack of exercise, and possibly the announcement of a General Election, with all the nastiness this will unleash upon the world. Politicians running around with aerosol cans labelled 'Begone Decency'. That sort of thing.
Anyway, this morning it is fresher, and I walked home after dropping the car off at the garage, again, this time to have the brakes desqueaked. And I am feeling more human. And my brother-in-law kindly lent me his car, again, so I was able to go garden visiting on my day off.
The scent of old-fashioned roses is, after all, a cure for a great many ills of the spirit. But there's no way to post the scent of roses to my journal, so I shall overcompensate with photos.
It's only a small rose garden at the Secret Garden, but once you wander into it and become entranced, and it's very hard to get out again...
An explosion of Alliums at the Secret Garden.
A lot of my photos were blurry today, possibly because the photographer is not feeling very sharp, but let's just label them 'Mood Shots', okay?
Alli-alli-allium! A gardener's war-cry.
The climbing roses, being that bit nearer the sun, are already in bloom.
Rosa 'Rachel', a little rain-battered, but still glorious.
Rosa 'Absolutely Fabulous'.
Note to self: do not go to the Secret Garden on a Friday morning again. There is an outdoor nursery class taking place, and it is debatable who is the loudest, the toddlers or the extremely cheery person leading the group in their many activities (which include drumming).
Have a sssssit down, you know you want to...