A dull, wet day today. This is looking south down the road through the woods – about half a kilometer to the lane. The majestic magnolia is now almost in leaf and the rhododendra and lilac are showing nicely, with the buddleia struggling so far. Please note remains of mole hills and the mysterious stone semi-circle to left. Read more…
Let’s see what Nicholas Breton has to say for April.
He, if you are new round here, was the author of Fantasticks, a weird collection of strangely spelled observation published in 1626.
It is now April, and the Nightingale begins to tune her throat against May: the Sunny showers perfume the aire, and the Bees begin to goe abroad for honey: the Dewe, as in Pearles, hangs upon the tops of the grasse, while the Turtles sit billing upon the little greene boughes: the Trowt begins to play in the Brookes, and the Sammon leaves the Sea, to play in the fresh waters: The Garden bankes are full of gay flowers, and the Thorne and the Plumme send forth their faire Blossomes: the March Colt begins to play, and the Cosset Lamb is learned to butt.
The Poets now make their studies in the woods, & the Youth of the Country make ready for the Morris-dance; the little Fishes lye nibling at a bait, and the Porpas playes in the pride of the tide: the Shepheardes pipe entertaines the Princesse of Arcadia, and the healthfull Souldier hath a pleasant march. The Larke and the Lambe looke up at the Sun, and the labourer is abroad by the dawning of the day: Sheepes eyes in Lambs heads, tell kind hearts strange tales, while faith and troth make the true Lovers knot: the aged haires find a fresh life, and the youthfull cheeks are as red as a cherry: It were a world to set downe the worth of this moneth: But in summe, I thus conclude, I hold it the Heavens blessing, and the Earths comfort.
Turtles are Turtle Doves I would imagine.
Not much Heaven’s blessing or Earth’s comfort around this neck of the woods yet (perhaps in Washington State?) but it’s a goodly way to go ’til May.
I know that the cherished friends’ breath is suitably bated until I tell you the latest in the windmill saga. So ‘yer ’tis, as they say in Cornwall.
The C_nt has had his surveyors out with their laser-thingies, measuring access roads and tricky corners, so we know he’s going ahead and we’d better get outta here pronto, Cisco! For reasons best known to themselves (are they masochists or wha’?) the wannabe new occupants of our former idyll still want to live here, so we have identified our new abode – pictured above. It’s in the midddle of a beech wood with a family of deer for neighbours. The barn/garage is also thatched – for architectural consistency, you know – and it is q-u-i-e-t. No traffic noise, just the birds and the occasional hunter. Ten minutes to the nearest town/shops/doctor/hospital – the main concerns of people like us.
Can’t wait to move!
I haven’t seen Bearsy around for a while.
Last I heard he was seen around Ballarat trying out his Christmas prezzie, a state-of-the-art metal detector.
A longed-for pint, another half;
A break from endless rain.
A finished job, a grandchild’s laugh;
A car that starts again.
The Beaujolais, the Stilton’s tang;
The orange evening sea.
The days when fruits abundant hang
From every plant and tree.
A place we know, a new one too;
A gentle hill to climb.
A welcome bed, a stunning view;
A shared remembered time.
This is for Bilby who mentioned the phenomenon in Nym’s post. Sorry I can’t find any record of Santa making one!
Here you can see a fine example of nature’s geometry: the spiral in a snail’s shell which illustrates the Fibonacci numbers and the Golden Number very well, so I’m told.
However if you want to know more, ask a mathematician, or google it