We were in the kitchen a couple of days ago and John observed that it was like being in an aquarium. Rain splattered on the back door and there was a continuous dripping from mulberry leaves, to fatshedera, to york stones. The sky was grey but the light was reflected back into the house from the rain drops on the ferns and ivy along the garden wall. In fact, the young ivy leaves glitter so much, even when they are not wet, that it's hard to take any photographs. It's only at the bottom of the wall, where the bricks are grey and sooty, that the light is a little more subdued though even there the self sown (spawned?) ferns and bracken shine back.
I love the way that this narrow strip of wall has grown into a garden entirely on its own terms. It is, simply beautiful, full of pattern and shape and all shades of green. By the time winter arrives, the older leaves will be dusty and sticky with spider silk and the larger ferns will gradually turn brown and then disappear until spring comes round again.
We thought we might lose our wall and with it our narrow ferny garden border. It may not seem much to some, but with space and light at such a premium this was a most unhappy threat. It can rain all it wants because it appears it will be staying after all.