One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock, four. 
Summer’s gone, it’s out the door
It didn’t come here anyway
Still the children want to play.

It’s been a month since I visited the bach, and here I am, blessed with that rare thing, a fine sunny day. The bach garden has gone wild while I’ve been away. Usually at this time of year, if I’m not around to water the plants, they shrivel and die. But not this summer.

The calendulas and marigolds, planted to deter pests and bring brightness to my salads, are happy and laughing.

The pumpkin that grew itself, is quietly swelling and ripening under the leaves.

A month ago it was just a little green thing, but all the rain has kept it growing.

What’s the time, Mr Wolf?
Autumn time.
Five o’clock, six o’clock, seven o’clock eight
Autumn’s here, it can’t be late
eight o’clock, nine o’clock ten o’clock eleven
The sun came out, today was heaven.

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