Smelling of Roses

Barely a breeze to rustle the leaves in the garden early this morning, and the sun already hot and shimmering. Small wisps of smoke from my two-day old bonfire. I decided to "nip" to Fram on my bike to collect my newspaper and some milk. Various hitches with the bike have stopped me doing this so far, but today the tyres were plump and hard, so off I went. No traffic along my lane, and no houses either in this direction: I'm the last one in the village. I hit the main road - well, it's not even classified B, but you do see cars from time to time as it leads into Framlingham. Old cottages set well back in their garden are dotted here and there. At once my nose was filled with the scents of dog roses, garden roses, lilac, laburnum, all the smells of summer. I was catapulted back to my earliest childhood in Ireland when I used to walk alone to school. The distance was a mile and a half - I measured it once as an incredulous adult - along a lane straddled with pastureland, cows, cowslips, meadowsweet and all the other wild flowers that I still can't name. As the lane neared the main road I used to pass a large, rambling old house standing in neglected grounds, and it was my habit after school to enter this garden and wander about sniffing everything. I can still clearly remember myself, aged six, seven and eight, inhaling the sweet scents and feeling such happiness that I thought I must surely explode. I was often reprimanded for being late, but I could no more give up this vice than stop breathing. This early experience formed my character more surely than anything else has done, and gave me my love of everything rural. I'll always be grateful for it.

Irises, the petals like shot silk

My front garden, two views

The route into Fram, so fast and seemingly level in the car, is anything but. "Nip" indeed! Who said Suffolk was flat? I arrived at the shop in a coating of sweat, struggling to stand as I dismounted onto jelly legs. How was I going to get home? Despite my tired, flabby thigh muscles I made it back, rejoicing in the loveliness of the day and my freedom to enjoy it like this. The hedges are rich and thick with late spring growth and birdsong. Old folk in the shop muttered about the heat and sun not lasting beyond the weekend, but what does it matter? It's here today, and it's enough.