The gardener, Brian, came yesterday afternoon; he's been on holiday for nearly a month so the garden needed his ministrations. This morning - very early - I bag up the rubbish for the weekly collection. Overcast sky. It has rained overnight, moisture still hangs heavily in the air, and a snail makes its slimey way up the wall. The scent of the newly turned soil and cut grass is wonderful. Half a dozen fuchsia flowers provide a splash of flashy, showgirl colour in an otherwise muted and damp space. I always try and walk barefoot on the grass as I read somewhere that is good for the health - and even if it isn't I love it, particularly in wet weather.
Brian went to the States for his holiday. We compare notes on the Grand Canyon and both agree that we needed far longer than the allotted single day in a packed itinerary. I still dream of making it back there one day to walk some of the lesser-known trails - around the North Rim for example.
I was at the canyon in early November 2000. The day after our arrival in America the Presidential Election took place. We left for home a week and a bit later, still not knowing who the next President would be. The rest, as they say, is history. History that is still playing itself out.