‘When will they be ripe?’ Silky Josephine asks of the blackberries as we pass the bramble on our walk, the stickered cane already thick with little green nubs. 
     Having taken an interest in baking, Silky is anxious to try her hand at cobbler. 
  She’s collected recipes. Dozens. Sorted them into categories of most and least buttery. And then from the most buttery recipes, sorted out those that had the best combination of goo and crunch ...that would require a bowl for eating, and most appreciate a spoon of ice cream, or even two. 
    She seems to have settled on an old Irish recipe that involves not only a great deal of butter, but also brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and the use of an iron skillet for baking. 
     ‘Another two weeks,’ I tell her. 
     'I can’t wait,’ Josie says. 
     And quite honestly ...neither can I.

             

If a squirrel were to hang from a branch by its hind feet ...which, as you might know, is not an uncommon pastime among squirrels ... and stretch to its fullest, this would be approximately ...and rather suspiciously, I might add ...the length of the cords that we found remaining in the Bumblebee tree. The cords to which, only yesterday, nearly a dozen bird feeders had been attached.

rabbit, rabbit, rabbit.