whatever is right,
whatever is pure,
whatever is lovely,
whatever is admirable—
if anything is excellent or
praiseworthy—think about such things.
|A reflective angel, Holywell Cemetery, Oxford|
|A Cotswold cottage in the|
village of Burford, Oxfordshire.
|Jack tucked safely inside his|
travel crate, with mummy's arm
(numb by now) for extra comfort.
|Just a few miles west of Oxford,|
and the road opens up to blue
skies and Constable clouds.
|Rolling hills and fields of rapeseed|
start to fill our car windows.
|Our first stop was, as it normally|
is, the Burford Garden Company,
gardens are not made By singing:
"Oh, how beautiful!"
and sitting in the shade...
"The Glory of the Garden"
|Driving down the hill,|
through the village of Burford.
Two of the very beautiful cottage
doorways of Burford, Oxfordshire.
|The single track lanes made|
a romantic bower for us.
|The village green.|
|These were some pretty stiff gate-penalties,|
so we made sure to keep on walking,
leaving the gate untouched & unopened.
|The Old Mill, Lower Slaughter, Gloucestershire|
|My new friends with their pink ears|
and little heart-shaped, black noses.