toadflax, pylons, seedlings

 A weed is defined as a plant growing where it is not wanted. Whether it is wanted or not, toad flax springs up quite unexpectedly in unexpected places. One plant takes shelter behind a sage in the vegetable garden and its purple flowers, mingle with those of the sage so that it goes virtually unnoticed. Here the plant grows out of the base of a wall against the unmade path (the local word is twitten) where dustbins reside. But such magnificence deserves a better description than "weed"  wherever and however it grows.

From the garden behind  the The Griffin Inn at Fletching we admire pylons striding across the weald towards the South Downs. My daughter is involved in research for the National Grid. Not everyone likes pylons, she says. But we agree that they have a certain architectural beauty. We note the way  perspective gathers the pylons together as they approach the horizon as  though they are engaged in some sort of meeting.

I wake up worrying about my basil. Yesterday the tray in the greenhouse where I had sown the minute black seeds looked dry and neglected. So this morning I check the tray, to find that spread across the  still moist compost are tiny green dots, which promise, once the seedlings are transplanted, a good crop of aromatic leaves for pesto and tomato and mozzarella salad.