June

SUMMER AT LAST AT BRYNMERHERYN, and the grass needs mowing once a week, a task that takes three hours on the ride-on mower but gives me good reason to leave my workroom and inspect the wilderness that passes for a garden.

White roses, single-petalled blossoms heavy with bumblebees, are in bloom by the dew-ponds. The wildflower meadow is ablaze with ragged robin and corncockle. Butter-coloured Welsh poppies spread sunshine wherever they find a toe-hold, and under the ash tree that overhangs the house a patch of self-seeded wild strawberries is ripening prettily in the shade.