Dew on sloe 'Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Close bosom friend of the maturing sun'
Robins sing in the silence and stillness. Mist hugs the fells and the sun will break through and burn it off. This could be a moment for sloes in the foggy, foggy dew. I haven't long.
The green fruit on a spindle bush ripen to rose. If its leaves last they could be autumn gold when the pink fruit split to reveal orange seeds. Mellow fruitfulness comes fitfully. Coincidence of weather and season sometimes bring wondrous effects, if you look, if you choose the right moment, the right year.
Close bosom friend of the maturing sun'
Robins sing in the silence and stillness. Mist hugs the fells and the sun will break through and burn it off. This could be a moment for sloes in the foggy, foggy dew. I haven't long.
The green fruit on a spindle bush ripen to rose. If its leaves last they could be autumn gold when the pink fruit split to reveal orange seeds. Mellow fruitfulness comes fitfully. Coincidence of weather and season sometimes bring wondrous effects, if you look, if you choose the right moment, the right year.
An abundance of sloes this year but this dew-effect doesn't come every day. The image I'd like is of deep gold leaves and ripe sloes sprinkled with dew. Only one or two rosy leaves, so far. The prolonged spell of drought withers leaves on trees before autumn colour tinges them. The days are calm and still but a brisk wind will strip leaves from the trees fast.
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