I love this time of year, when the turf cutting and saving is underway. It is as if the ground erupts into ripples, a corduroy textures landscape. Then as the "saving" progresses and the turf is "footed" it resembles little sculptures, a knot work of pattern upon the surface. A birds eye view would resemble a giant aran sweater laid out upon the land.
And the bog-cotton is glorious, so delicate and yet sturdy