Because of the rain we are experiencing a sudden strangulation of mint.
And a patina of rust.
And a profusion of lavender, which sways and nods in the morning wind awaiting the resident grist of honeybees.*
And which ends up on P's bedside table, with a sprig of sweet william, in a spice bottle that still smells faintly of ground nutmeg. Because no matter what he tells you, a husband appreciates a bedside posy.
*See right sidebar under Terms of Venery. A group of bees is commonly known as a hive or a swarm, and less commonly but perhaps more delightfully, as a flight or a grist.
From now on I'll take my honeybees in grists, thank you very much.