I hear myself saying- I don't know what I'm doing. And there's a freedom in that. I say it, often in the most inappropriate places, only to discover that . . .
Everything is lush; the lane is coming into the best part of the year. I am besotted with green, tiny buds coming into flower, light as it illuminates petals and unfurling leaves. I wonder . . .
Happy St. Patrick's Day! . . .
If Ireland is green then Greece is blue. All kinds of blue, even kinds I wasn't expecting........... It starts when you turn south from Corinth. The legs of the . . .
Spring comes early here. Delicate and lemony leaves fill the hedgerows. By the time we return, foxgloves will be flowering again on the lane. Truth be told, it's hard to . . .
Ireland is going green. First of all it's the National Holiday, Saint Patrick's Day. But even more importantly it is also Spring. At last, at last, at last. After . . .
And just when it seemed like the relentless greyness would never return to light, under the dark compost, luscious rhubarb was being reborn. It distracted me from the gloom....... Green shoots, . . .
In Midsummer now brightest green and lush lasting only moments counting every one through one half shut eye land bathed in light still promising so many balmy days ahead . . .
We listen for the sound of . . .