Coming in for the winter.

It seems to have rained all November and everything wants to come indoors for the winter.

This strand of wisteria knows where it is safe and has grown in through the window at the Botanical school, but I bet someone will snap it off when the window is closed for the winter!

My own window sill is groaning with late autumn refugees. A single red geranium; three colis plants of various leaf colours; a doleful hanging begonia; a pine scented geranium and a lemon scented geranium sulking at being brought in doors yet again. A little Christmas cactus is flowering already and an amaryllis is pushing up a pale flower spike. They have months to go, jostling for sunshine on the window sill and I will do my best to ensure equality by a little pruning and turning.

In the garden, frost has yet to blacken the last flowers, but torrential rain and storms have reduced most to a soggy mess. The lone, unlikely survivors are two patches of night scented stock. They have bloomed cheerfully since they were sown in the late summer. I thought I was foolish to try something so late, but have been delighted and cheered by their innocent little flowers: even if it is way too cold to sit out and try to enjoy their perfume !

Some things are opportunistic refugees, like this caterpillar that came in on the last basil plant. I doubt if he will make a butterfly, but you never know.

The Reappearing Forests of West Bengal

This is a wonderful example of how things can get better. Read the whole article and feel as restored as this lucky corner of India.

The trees in this corner of India vanished decades ago, leaving heat waves and drought. What happened when they returned proves the healing power of reforestation.
— Read on reasonstobecheerful.world/the-reappearing-forests-of-west-bengal/

Rain.

Hissing through the leaves

All spaces filled with rain and syllables of soft sound rimmed with iron.

Boots on spiked beech mast too

Loud

Only useful to push the nut into the wet path, where it might grow

Or might not.

The high shrill slice of goldcrests between the shuddering purr of the rain lifts the hairs in the ears,

And there is more to hear and more again

until the quiet cacophony of the wet woods absorbs us utterly and we are given over to the clouds,

And the falling water.