Almost Christmas. . . .

. . . .well, first week of Advent, anyway.

But the birch trees have only just decided that it might be autumn and are finally inclining toward a yellowy orangy colour:

I was supposed to be out doing some industrious weeding and serious gardening.  It turned into a bit of puttering and some serious  meditating on what the garden might look like if I were a better gardener.

The birches don't seem to mind though.  I love birches; with a decent breeze they sound like a rolling surf.  I ought to start a society for folks who love birches.  I could call it John's Birch Society.

Or maybe not.