Lucy measures her summers in berries but for me, the season is marked by the pinking of the peaches. They are warm, dripping and sticky, and all the more sweet for having been plucked from the beaks of the rapacious birds who peck at every fruit four days before they are perfectly ripe. I never buy a peach in the fruit store - they are such pale and hard imitations of what I savour in the garden in the quiet of the morning.
And so I was happy when walked out in the garden after a week away and saw this:
Three weeks to go, I estimate, and looking far more seasonal than faux snow and flashing Christmas lights. I think it will be a very good Christmas, irrespective of what's under the tree