Lots of people in certain busy areas of London have looked around in surprise lately to find them blowing like snowflakes before the wind. But when the “snowflakes” settled on sleeves or hats, they were the small, parachute-like seed carriers of the rose berry willow that grows so profusely in every wasteland, and especially the bombed areas of the City of London. A few days ago these dreary rooms were for a short time gorgeous in pink purple and here and there in gold, where the Oxford ragwort blooms. But now the beauty is fading and millions of seeds are scattered far and wide by the wind.
Farther away, in the heather and plateaus of Surrey, the heather blooms a little later than usual. On one of the rare days with warm sunshine this summer, it was a real pleasure to lie in the deep heather, the scent of which evoked images of the Pennine moors and the silent heather slopes beside the mountain lakes in the loneliness of the hills of the Lake District.