No Smoke Without Fire

At 7.30am, sipping her Sunday morning tea in bed, MrsM noticed water dripping down the inside of the bedroom curtain, staining the lining. It was coming from the stonework of the wall, bringing with it the iron from the ironstone, staining the lining. By some mystical alchemy, she has removed it. Praise be to Wikihow

Heavy rainstorms from the north are a rarity here. Last night felt like winter's parting shot as it retreats to the pole. Boreas was the Greek god of winter. 'Boreal' means a long winter and a cool summer. We all know what the aurora borealis is. Farewell and good riddance. There is a 2cm piece of pointing that has fallen off above the window; I hope fixing that will solve it; I'll need to put stabilizers on the ladder

At 11am it was 5 degrees C, and still raining. "Begone damn you, your time is past!" And it worked: the clouds parted, the light changed, the temperature rose, a cog turned and, in the falling sun, this tree caught fire. It is our neighbour's 'smoke tree' (Cotinus coggygria) - so called because its fine-stemmed, multiply-branched flower (and seed) structures look like puffs of smoke emitted by the tree. Bees are not keen on smoke, but they love smoke tree flowers

The white flowers in the foreground are the blossom of our Morello cherry - much longer lasting than usual, thanks to Boreas. The trunk in the background is holly - a reminder that he will be back but, until then, a fixing-point for one end of the summer hammock

Turn, turn, turn