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Category Archives: postaday2017

Harvest Moon, Hydrangea and Suffragette Garden

The Harvest Moon was glorious last night. I had thought it was the Hunter’s Moon but then I discovered this:

This year’s autumnal equinox came on September 22nd, making October 5th the Harvest moon because it is the closest full moon in the calendar.While October is usually reserved for the Hunter’s moon, this year we got a late Harvest moon.The Hunter’s moon will take place on November 3.

Harvest Moon through the trees

I love how Hydrangeas are just as lovely as they start to fade.

Hydrangea for Patti

Our suffragette Garden has purple and white at the same time for a day or two! Spring is its best season but the Japanese Anemones are just still in flower as theTibouchina Urvilleana have just started to bloom.

Japanese Anemone

 
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Posted by on October 6, 2017 in Beauty, garden, nature, postaday2017

 

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White Dahlia, Pink Amaryllis and Friendship

Our white Dahlias are very lovely this year. They seem to have found their feet at last.

White Dahlia in our garden

I have been singing with friends this afternoon, getting ready for a performance in November. Their garden is glorious but only this photo worked today as I am getting to know how my new camera works.

Amaryllis in J&M’s garden

My Blog is dedicated to my lovely friend, Kath, who died six years ago today. In Sonnet 104, Shakespeare talks about the value of friendship and the fact that enduring friendship remains intact despite the “process of the seasons” and the passing of the years.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride;
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned
In process of the seasons have I seen;
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah yet doth beauty, like a dial hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived.
  For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred:
  Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead.
I have written almost every day with Kath in mind, a total so far of 2,309 posts in her memory.
 

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Exeter, Lunch and The Copse

A late decision to go shopping in Exeter proved to be a very good one. After a couple of hours, (and a new camera for me!) we met our eldest for lunch, a real treat as we haven’t seen her since the Golden Wedding events. Driving home, everyone in Cornwall recognises the Copse that says, “You are nearly home!” Do join me in the gallery to enjoy the beautiful things I spotted while on walkabout. Click on any photo for the caption and more detail.

 

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October Garden, Sheep and Lunch

Our garden is still full of colour. The Begonia given to us by J&M some months ago is thriving.Click on any photo to get the full glory.

There are sheep in the field behind us!

Sheep in the back field

Lunch – simple,  beautiful – and delicious.

Delicious

 

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Cornish Lane, Wooden Cat and John Keats

I love our Cornish lanes with gnarled old trees which form a tunnel over the lane.

Cornish lane

For many years we have had a small wooden cat, bought when we no longer had our cats having given them to our daughter so that they could live in the countryside and we, just retired, could go on holidays without having to find cat-sitters.  He has been sitting in our hall since we came back to Cornwall almost ten years ago.  Last week, one of our dear friends had to say goodbye to her much-loved cat, Bussie, and wondered if anyone had a small cat ornament that she would put in her rather special beach garden. We both felt that it was time for our lovely wooden cat to be passed on to Sue who is absolutely delighted and has painted him in Bussie’s colouring already and he now sits in the beach garden. It has been lovely for us to do something so simple to make our friend so happy.

Bussie, the wooden replica, from us to Sue

For some reason that I cannot fathom, thinking about cats put me in mind of John Keats’ Ode on a Grecian Urn, another poem, one verse of which we had to learn by heart many years ago. In groups then and in unison,  we had to recite our verse and others recited the other verses. It was not a favourite then but maybe the last two lines lodged in my brain all those years ago.

Ode on a Grecian Urn

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness, 
       Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, 
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express 
       A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: 
What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape 
       Of deities or mortals, or of both, 
               In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? 
       What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? 
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? 
               What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? 
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
       Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; 
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d, 
       Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: 
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave 
       Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; 
               Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, 
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; 
       She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, 
               For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! 
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed 
         Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; 
And, happy melodist, unwearied, 
         For ever piping songs for ever new; 
More happy love! more happy, happy love! 
         For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d, 
                For ever panting, and for ever young; 
All breathing human passion far above, 
         That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d, 
                A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. 
Who are these coming to the sacrifice? 
         To what green altar, O mysterious priest, 
Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, 
         And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? 
What little town by river or sea shore, 
         Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, 
                Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? 
And, little town, thy streets for evermore 
         Will silent be; and not a soul to tell 
                Why thou art desolate, can e’er return. 
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede 
         Of marble men and maidens overwrought, 
With forest branches and the trodden weed; 
         Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought 
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! 
         When old age shall this generation waste, 
                Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe 
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st, 
         “Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all 
                Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”
 

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A Wedding -The Cake, Singing and The View

The Suitcase Singers, with whom I sing every week in Penryn, were invited to sing at a wonderful Wedding today. Our singing was all a surprise for the Bride! It was a fabulous occasion and greatly appreciated which was lovely.

Their Wedding Cake was a wonder to behold – a cake made of cheese!

Cheese cake for the wedding

Waiting to sing for the Bride. Thanks to Anne for the photo.

The rain fell but it marred nothing. The view is still lovely even in Cornish rain.

The view from The Ferryboat Inn across The Helford River

 

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Ducks, Silver Linings and A Blackberry Poem

Driving into Truro this afternoon, we followed a van the rear of which which made me smile.

Ducks

Driving home, the grey sky was suddenly lit in such a way that we seemed to be looking through some torn holes to see the silver lining.

Silver holes in the sky

I was given this poem yesterday and it delighted me both as an eater of Blackberries and a bit of a wordsmith.

Blackberry Eating – Galway Kinnell

I love to go out in late September
among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries
to eat blackberries for breakfast,
the stalks very prickly, a penalty
they earn for knowing the black art
of blackberry-making; and as I stand among them
lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries
fall almost unbidden to my tongue,
as words sometimes do, certain peculiar words
like strengths or squinched,
many-lettered, one-syllabled lumps,
which I squeeze, squinch open, and splurge well
in the silent, startled, icy, black language
of blackberry-eating in late September.

Isn’t it a delight?

 
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Posted by on September 29, 2017 in Beauty, Humour, nature, Photography, poetry, postaday2017

 

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