"What a difference a day makes; twenty four little hours," so the song goes...
Yesterday's cut glass skies have been replaced by blustering Gertrude running amok! It's certainly warmer but what a high price to pay, the garden is now strewn with decaying debris; brittle branches broken away from the trees in the fearsome gusts. Fur and feathers will literally fly as the garden's residents struggle to find food and shelter. Tiny song birds will quickly lose energy as they strive to keep warm. Squirrels, pheasants, as well as wild birds are scrabbling for the scattered seed from the fallen birdtable, another of Gertrude's victims.
In the lee of the hill, we are generally protected from the prevailing westerly winds. But tonight, as Gertrude journeys eastwards the patio and rose garden lie directly in her path... Tomorrow, the first day of February, I will venture out early to assess the damage.
