And no, I’m not thinking Ingmar Bergman films, here.
Seeing my Swedish ‘garden’ during a different June week from most years is enlightening. I’m pretty sure that Mother-of-witch never planted wild strawberries, and especially not in the gap between the deck and the ill-kempt grass. But there it was, nestling among the dry leaves from last year, and almost smothered by the overgrown grassy slope.
The slope is covered in flowers. Two or three kinds of yellow, one kind of blue and something purple. And tall white daisies. This would have been before I took the mower for a walk.
I’m not the only one to take walks around here. As I went further up into the woods, the path cutting through the tall grass was very distinct, so I can only assume that a lot of deer traffic has taken place while I’ve not been looking.