An interesting building from 1585, some police and some of the enormous crowd outside The Lindo Wing where the newest Royal has been born today (both taken from a moving car) and Isambard Kingdom Brunel on the station at Paddington.
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Found in the garden of some lovely friends…..
Leaving their place, I spotted my first Bluebell of the year, just about to open, beside the stream in the village.
We thought Spring had arrived but, as is the nature of April, today has been full of showers (and a bitter wind.) Spring really is coming, see above. Here is a poem, by Sara Teasdale, that sums up April rather well.
April – Sara Teasdale
The roofs are shining from the rain.
The sparrows tritter as they fly,
And with a windy April grace
The little clouds go by.
Yet the back-yards are bare and brown
With only one unchanging tree–
I could not be so sure of Spring
Save that it sings in me.
I needed to have a golden yellow scarf for today for the funeral of our choir member who died in March. He was a staunch Cornishman and wanted us to wear black and golden yellow, Cornish colours, and yesterday I found this beauty, yellow gold with purple, white and green – just perfect. It was a beautiful Ceremony, full of singing and joy as well as some tears, a real celebration of a life well lived.
Come, and be my BabyThe highway is full of big carsgoing nowhere fastAnd folks is smoking anything that’ll burnSome people wrap their lies around a cocktail glassAnd you sit wonderingwhere you’re going to turnI got it.Come. And be my baby.Some prophets say the world is gonna end tomorrowBut others say we’ve got a week or twoThe paper is full of every kind of blooming horrorAnd you sit wonderingWhat you’re gonna do.I got it.Come. And be my baby.
The wonderful Man Engine rose to his full height at Heartlands today as we sang to him and the crowd who braved the rain and wind.
I earned my Cornish passport today!
Even with four layers, I did get rather cold and damp (it was only 8C today) so when I came home, after toast and honey next door, I lit the wood burner.
If you are on the route of the Man Engine Resurrection Tour, do get your tickets and enjoy the biggest ever mechanical puppet the UK has ever seen! You won’t regret it. https://www.themanengine.org.uk/
A Ladybird visited us this morning. It was very tiny, less that 5mm in length and very busy. It was hard to catch a photo as it rarely stood still.
I spotted something pink under one of the Welly Dogs in town this morning and discovered a Kernow Rock. Small decorated rocks are being hidden all over Cornwall, waiting to be found and re-hidden for someone else to find. I shall take it out with me tomorrow……
Here are the other two antique Minton tiles being used to decorate our veg trug.
A comment was made that a veg trug was a new idea so here is the trug, not a beautiful picture as the stones are awaiting their Spring wash, but as it is!
Walking back from a lovely singing session with The Suitcases Singers, I spotted a heart on the pavement. I sometimes think passers-by must think I am crazy, taking the oddest of photos!
Spring seems to be arriving as the softness of light has today replaced the winter grey
Early Spring by Rainer Maria Rilke
Harshness vanished. A sudden softness
has replaced the meadows’ wintry grey.
Little rivulets of water changed
their singing accents. Tendernesses,
hesitantly, reach toward the earth
from space, and country lanes are showing
these unexpected subtle risings
that find expression in the empty trees.
And a Cornish lane for you, albeit with some winter grey about it. I’ll find a sunny one as soon as I can!
Our Crocus flowers opened wide for the brief sunshine this morning.
A poem entitled March came my way recently and I share it with you here. Natasha Trethewey is another poet new to me. She is an American poet despite her Cornish name – Cornish heritage perhaps.
March 1912 – Natasha Trethewey
–Postcard, en route westward
At last we are near
breaking the season, shedding
our coats, the gray husk
of winter. Each tree
trembles with new leaves, tiny
blossoms, the flashy
dress of spring. I am
aware now of its coming
as I’ve never been—
the wet grass throbbing
with crickets, insistent, keen
as desire. Now,
I feel what trees must—
budding, green sheaths splitting—skin
that no longer fits.
It rained the rest of the day, tears running down the window panes, echoing the pain felt in our choir at the loss of one of our members. This poem also turned up recently and it seems the right moment to share it.