Monday, 17 March 2014

Calling all angels



Every blade of grass has its Angel
That bends over it and whispers ‘Grow, grow’  
                                          The Talmud




Step inside the crocus


The lawn has had its first cut of the year and already begins to take pride in its appearance, despite still needing to have its edges trimmed and sharpened.

There is such a lot of tidying of the borders needing desperately to be done. Already the first garden bin is full to over-flowing. My back aches just thinking about it.


Narcissi

 Friend Elaine has delivered a margarine carton full of frog spawn and the blue tits have discovered the nesting box nearest the kitchen window.

The intermingled smells from the flowering daphne and winter honeysuckle combine naturally to rival the best that Jo Malone could ever produce – and all for free.



It is such a glorious time of the year - full of so much promise.

The days are lengthening and the catkins are alive to the sound of early birdsong as I know to my cost, being woken to the sound of them leaping from wardrobe to wardrobe before 6 a.m. each morning!

When in these fresh mornings I go into my garden before anyone is awake, I go for the time being into perfect  happiness. In this hour divinely fresh and still, the fair face of every flower salutes me with silent joy that fills me with infinite content, each gives me its colour, its grace, its perfume and enriches me with the consummation of its beauty.
                          Celia Thaxter An Island Garden 1894 


The glory of neighbour Robert's Van Gogh-like tree full of blossom
 






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