What a surprise! Last time I struggled through the jungle to reach this particular apple tree, it didn't seem to be offering anything. Now it's positively groaning. But there's something sad about little green apples getting rosy. The nights are drawing in. I used to feel that way about the Edinburgh Festival and the Glorious Twelfth (12th August - the start of the grouse season in Britain for the uninitiated. That's the start of what my American friends would call the hunting season.) The chipmunks are already laboriously stuffing the peanuts I throw them into their cheeks and scurrying them off to their burrows. We'd better get the snow shovels out.
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