At 21 July, it is hardly fair to think of Spring yet - we’re probably a good couple of months away from Spring proper. The air is icy crisp outside, even though the wintry clouds have faded into the distance.
(Above): A while ago, in 1804-ish to be precise, William Wordsworth penned his famous “Daffodils” poem. If one analyses it in detail, you reach the conclusion that there was no big deal in writing this…
“… I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze…”
Strangely, I can still clearly remember the afternoon we visited his grave at St Oswald’s in Grasmere. There were a number of graves of family members there as well, if memory serves. I suspect there may be a photo or two in our travelogue “A Walk In The Park”
(Above): Our host of Daffodils. Clumps of these bright fresh little darlings have sprung up all of the place on our lawn, mostly in the safety zone near tree trunks.
While, a few metres away, Brynn is enjoying the relative warmth of the winter sun on the trampoline… A bit of spring in her jumps, as well.
(Above): Brynn demonstrates the Buddha and (below) the Superman.
