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I've recently discovered Ann Cleeves and her northern detective stories and I'm hooked. Brain fog means that of late crime fiction is pretty much all I can focus on, and she is very good.
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The silver birch sways languidly in the fresh north-west breeze and the evening sun warms the brickwork. The horse chestnut is clothed in a pale green mist, not yet leaves but no longer buds. Dandelions, daisies and forget-me-nots have sprung up on the lawn. I'm happy to see them all, even the dandelions. No, especially the dandelions - there's something so cussed and undaunted and cheerful about them, as if they know they're not always welcome and they don't care.
Like I said, a good day. It finally feels like spring.
4 comments:
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Hi Barbara :-)
Glad you're doing better, and that it's spring. I feel rather more like some delicate flower than a dandelion myself, though I do admire its verve. Which reminds me of a guy I dated who disparagingly said I was lacking in pluck. (Insensitive cad, that one.) Every bloom has its merits, I guess!
Thanks Leslee.
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