Weekend at Sue's house

We spent Saturday afternoon in Sue's back yard. The sky is Scottish-flag-blue, the breeze gentle, the temperature perfect. The dogwood tree is bursting with red fruits the size of cherries.  While Sue painted a picture of her scarlet runner beans, I read aloud from Hamnet, by Maggie O'Farrell. Our thanks to the blipper who recommended this book. I have forgotten who you are, but I am grateful. 

"And what a forest it was. Dense, verdant, crazily cross-stitched with brambles and ivy, the trees so closely packed that there were whole swathes, it was said, that received no light at all. Not a place to get lost, then. There were paths that went round and back on themselves, paths that led travellers from their route, their intentions. Breezes that whipped up from nowhere. Certain clearings where you might hear music or whispers or murmurs of your name, saying, Here, come here, come this way" p. 39. 

We're up to p. 44, entranced, enthralled, enraptured.

A joyful bonus in the Extra: my daughter in South Africa has a baby girl, born the day after my birthday, a month ago. Her name is Kamohelo.