A soft day

A soft day, thank God!
A wind from the south
With a honeyed mouth;
A scent of drenching leaves,
Briar and beech and lime,
White elder-flower and thyme
And the soaking grass smells sweet,
Crushed by my two bare feet,
While the rain drips,
Drips, drips, drips from the eaves.

A soft day, thank God!
The hills wear a shroud
Of silver cloud;
The web the spider weaves
Is a glittering net;
The woodland path is wet,
And the soaking earth smells sweet
Under my two bare feet,
And the rain drips,
Drips, drips, drips from the leaves.
Winifred M Letts
I've used that poem before but i sums it all up so well. Dead calm, a watery sun, hazy hills and a soft drizzle: the view as I went to collect the papers. The day was warm and after Himself had been for a walk, he announced it was perfectly swimmable and the tide was right. We went down to Kitchen Cove and plunged in! The water was a bit murky and greasy after the rain and pretty fresh  - good nonetheless.

The fruit for the Christmas cake is languishing in whiskey and cherry juice ready for cooking tomorrow. There is an abundance of cherries this year - and dates and figs and prunes and apricots.