Wild Roses and Hips

It is a brilliant morning here, sunshine and clear skies, and the day promises to be hot and humid, well over a hundred degrees with the humidity factored into the equation. We are off to Lanark in a short time; today I need to be out in the fresh highland air for a few hours among the big old trees and walking under their cool leafy canopy - I need to regenerate and pull in vibrant energy from my nemeton, from the perfect peace and balance of my native place.

The wild mountain roses in my garden are blooming, and they are certainly enjoying their season of plenty. These were transplanted years ago after a western trip and now form a dense thorny hedgerow in the garden behind the little blue house in the village - every July, the hedgerow is covered with masses of fragrant pink roses and a veritable cornucopia of rosehips, but this year's harvest is extraordinary.

Every year, I look at this hedgerow and realize once again that summer is fleeting. Although there are many golden days still to come, it will not be long before autumn makes an appearance, before domestic alchemy is in progress, and like the squirrels, I am filling my larder for the long nights time. When the rosehips ripen, they are transformed into jars of rich crimson jelly, chock full of natural vitamin C and goodness. Snug in our nests when the snow flies, we will partake of summer and its brilliance all winter long.