Wild heart, child heart,
all of the world your home.
Glad heart, mad heart,
what can you do but roam?
~Robert W. Service,
Rhymes of a Rolling Stone, 1912
|The smell of magnolia was the first thing to say|
hello on our morning walk through the cemetery.
|Golden dappled light|
bounced off the stone.
|The crabapple tree hangs|
heavy with blossoms.
|Bluebells are everywhere.|
|Wildflowers are starting to appear.|
|Lingering daffodils mingling|
with the bluebells.
|Jack always leads the way|
through the dappled sunlight.
|St. Cross church in the morning sun.|
|After weeks waiting for spring, it's|
finally appeared in tender green leaves.
|Today is St. George's Day in England and|
flags are flying over all the colleges. As I
walked up to our front door, I looked up.
There was the Union Jack waving overhead
and a regal hawk flying over it all--
this 'scepter'd isle'.
|There are so many things to do before I leave in the|
morning--like planting flowers so they'll be blooming
and beautiful when I get home in May. As always,
I have my little shadow and helper tagging along.