Oh dear, I've left it too long to mow the grass. It's now so tall it needs reaping not mowing! On the weekend I did the lawn in the top garden but didn't have the heart to mow through the burgeoning forget-me-nots and violet clumps. Words to walk with: Even though it is entirely the wrong season, my dilemna reminded me of this stanza from To Autumn by John Keats "Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers"