The poplar seed.
Who knows why (tree enthusiasts may) but the garden is covered in fluffy, catkin-like seeds. The air is full of the flying fluff from them. It’s getting everywhere.
We clean the tables and a few minutes later they’re covered again.
They’ve even had the audacity to land in cups of tea and bowls of asparagus soup (yes, that time of year again).
This afternoon the man who usually mows the tearooms lawn sent his lovely dad to do the job. As he came closer to the tables under the trees he caused a snowstorm of fluff which sent customers running. When I went out to ask him to postpone his mow he looked crestfallen,
“My son said you might make me a cup of tea if I did this. I guess I’ve scuppered that now.”
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