Soft sun-kissed days cooled by fresh sea breezes, cleansed by the occasional sparkling shower, make September the ideal month to visit and to find Mother on her knees, bent over in the flower beds, trowel in hand, while behind the hedgerows farmers on tractors chug doggedly across God's earth, back and forth, up and down, dawn til dusk, harvesting food for the coming winter, ploughing the soil for next year’s crop, sold on squares of nearby market towns. Nature’s cycle turned by man’s mechanical hand.
There is no better place to unwind and relax than in that remote abode, almost unaffected by infernal traffic, a delicious dinner served up at sundown, some of the world’s best TV on the box, dog permanently primed for a trek up Church Lane and beyond to pure streams meandering below stubbled fields, watery meadows and shaded copse.
When head hits pillow, book is read, lights go out, deep slumber washes away ever more distant sandy thoughts, replaced by pleasant dreams until morning breaks, birds chirp and call, mother’s already back in the garden and the dog awaits another walk, as well as the scraps from a bacon sandwich.
So it goes.