Joyous moments

It helped that today's weather was so stunning - chilly, but decidedly beautiful. Crisply cool air, hot sun, not a cloud in the sky. Despite the hurried domesticity of the morning - come back to that in a moment - the rush of reviving the sourdough starter from its holiday torpor, the two loads of washing to get done and out on the line, the phone calls, the hunting in the loft (oh, the knees on the ladder!) for a book that wasn't there but finding several thought lost for ever - despite all that, it was surely a day for something wonderful.

[That business of rushing to finish things: how is it that after all these years of retirement, I still find myself running out of time, fighting with flour after dinner when all I want to do is sit down, rushing to fit in my Italian practice while Himself chops vegetables for the stir fry? Where does time go? What am I doing that makes the day at once alarmingly long and dauntingly short? Do other Blippers in my position find the same, or are you all more organised, or get up earlier?]

But back to the wonder. We took our enfeebled knees (that descent of North Goatfell a week ago did them no good at all) for an unchallenging walk along the Loch Striven road this afternoon. We'd not gone very far when the Blipper in me spotted the bright yellow of a large clump of what I'm calling Ragwort because I'm hopeless at naming wildflowers. I moved closer, thinking to line it up against the vivid blues of sky and sea - and realised the entire clump was positively moving, alive with bees and butterflies. I've done my best to pick a couple of photos to convey the effect; the main one is the first I took, showing how many splashes of colour were there - if you see it on a desktop computer it may be easier - and the extra homes in on a couple. I've not had time to identify them yet (hopeless at that too. Really Could Do Better) so feel free to have a go and tell me.

There were brambles too, glistening blackly on their branches among wonderfully red leaves, and the last honeysuckle flowers high at the end of their branches. And in the south, a gentle purple against the blue of the sky, the hills of Arran. Always there, always in my heart.