Ivy an unsung hero of our environment

THE wind in the beech tops sounds like an overhead railway rocketing down a tunnel, but on the ground there isn’t a puff of breeze and the water in the pond is mirror-still.

In the recent incessant storms, we are fortunate in being sheltered from almost every direction, but last night a stray gust sent a balcony chair cart-wheeling the length of the wooden deck on the second floor, creating a racket that woke my wife. Discombobulated though she was, she resigned herself to wakefulness rather than disturbing me or rushing out to capture the chair at the risk of being blown sky high. However, the wind’s sport suddenly stopped and quiet descended but for rain pelting the windows like a mad creature trying to break in.

In the morning, we found the chair on a sloping rockery, standing on all four legs as if to provide accommodation for a poetic soul who might wish to sit and contemplate panoramic views of the bay.