A Spring Morning
By John Clare
The Spring comes in with all her hues and smells,
In freshness breathing over hills and dells;
O’er woods where May her gorgeous drapery flings,
And meads washed fragrant by their laughing springs.
Fresh are new opened flowers, untouched and free
From the bold rifling of the amorous bee.
The happy time of singing birds is come,
And Love’s lone pilgrimage now finds a home;
Among the mossy oaks now coos the dove,
And the hoarse crow finds softer notes for love.
The foxes play around their dens, and bark
In joy’s excess, ’mid woodland shadows dark.
The flowers join lips below; the leaves above;
And every sound that meets the ear is Love.
I was super boring on Friday, though it was a gorgeous day and I spent an hour in the park (I was walking with PoGo friends so I didn't take pictures, though I didn't see any snowdrops yet). I did a bit of a decorating project that took longer than I thought in the afternoon, and I spent far more time than should have been necessary cleaning up cat hurk due to Daisy overeating.
We had dinner with my parents, came home for Blindspot where I keep expecting this season's two major storylines (Jane's and Natasha's) to converge but they aren't even close, and last week's Victoria, where lots of liberties were taken with the timeline so I wish we'd gotten more John Snow at least. Tonight, some more flashback Friday photos from spring 2003, at Leeds Castle: