Every year at least once I remember the lines of this poem. Usually it's during Autumn in the dazzling russets of dying leaves. This year it was while walking in Mount Congreve during Magnolia time. Magnolias were flowering on dark branches and there are some ancient . . .
Today it is the stillest, sunniest spring morning. To the east the hill of gorse is in full flower and the exotic aroma of sweet coconut brushes against my jacket. Birdsong fills the fields as nest making and nest guarding goes on. In the distant sky the Coastguard helicopter is . . .
Can I just go totally over the top here for 5 minutes? Can I share with you the exuberant joy of lying in these woodland anenomes at Zwartbles farm in Kilkenny on a spring afternoon in dappled shade? Can you soak up the colour and the light and the magic of it with me? If . . .
We met on Twitter. Many people find it hard to understand how Twitter even functions, but in our beginning, a short few years ago, a small group of bloggers in Ireland discovered each other there. All with individual interests and reasons for . . .
"The March Hare will be much the most interesting, and perhaps as this is May it won't be raving mad – at least not so mad as it was in March." thus spoke Alice, in Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll Last year he was a fluffy bundle. Now he has . . .
Always in the same spot under this large tree. Who planted them or when? In the morning light, their petals glow, sparkling gems of amethyst and gold. So climb over two strands of barbed wire. Get even closer. Any photographer would yearn for gritty urban street drama? But down in . . .
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 leave. The privilege I feel turning into my sixth decade is overwhelming. Early losses meant that I may . . .
Bumble bee Gorse Violet Blackthorn blossom Ladybird Herb Robert Primrose It's three years now since I started this blog. One of my earliest posts was a photograph of creamy Blackthorn blossoms on the ditch. Today just a . . .
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 the grey, stormy winter, here in the fields, every small twitch of change registers. Buds, shoots, . . .
Pink, blue, lavender and softest grey, the pastel diary of early spring days. The promise of a new palette. Until then soak in the light, the heart, the hope. Warmth streaming through the window after our wintery lunch. Pull back the curtains, throw open the door and listen to the whisper . . .