I went out early this morning between the sun and the moon. This is such a lovely time of day, at a lovely time of the year. Magnolia trees are blossoming, great wings of pink or white unfurling from what seemed to be no more than upright sticks. Daisy bushes are growing plumper. The fences soften with jasmine and, to be honest, some purple flower whose name I don't know but it looks like a butterfly tucked in amongst leaves. I've never really felt compelled to learn flower names. It seems such a colonial approach to wild beauty.
The days stretch gently. It saddens me, and yet in other ways I am looking forward to spring.
the paths littered with camellias
windows lush with morning sun
riding along quiet little roads in search of hedgeflowers
replenishing my garden
storms shaken out of the frost-coloured stars
thrush song and bird nests
sinking my toes into the countryside
reading old books beside the sea
dinner on the front doorstep
white witch winds coming down from the hills
lemonade and scones
bees on the rosemary, butterflies