They’re heading off to collect Viola figs for breakfast from the little orchard that sits beyond the conifer-lined drive.  The canopy of lush green exudes a warm, honeyed perfume of bulging ripe fruit that reminds me of peaches bursting from their skins.  Morning is the nicest time to visit, before the damp mossiness of the grass and earth spoils the cool, freshness of fig leaf and the crisp dawn breeze has not entirely escaped from the early morning shade.  This is the scent of holiday mornings, the scent of unhindered possibility, the day that lies ahead will be long, restful and filled with smiles, drawing to a close with heavy eyelids and  content sleepers, ready for the next adventure tomorrow. SMc

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