Up until my move to England, all my Easters were spent in the southern hemisphere where the world is slipping majestically into Autumn. Now, I love Autumn, I really do. Little can beat the golds and reds as the trees turn, but as romantic as that is, Autumn still bodes death.
Spring, on the other hand, means life and new beginnings. Deep, huh! Yeah well, that said, this Easter in England has been a totally new experience as Lincolnshire bursts into life around me. I don't think I've ever seen such a profusion of blossoms of every hue. Every tree is laden with flowers, sending me into sensory overload.
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| My blossoms amid the blossoms |
And then there are the daffodils - growing wild in places, exactly as Wordsworth saw them over two hundred years ago.
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| I wandered lonely as a cloud . . . |
How can I fail to mention the bluebells in the woods? My mind goes into overdrive, imagining fairies around every tree stump.
And then there are rape seed fields burning yellow as far as the eye can see. Set against the blue sky (yes, sometimes it is blue, even in England) and the emerald grass, the golden yellow is insane. Only a master creator could have envisaged something so magnificent. Pity my photo doesn't do it justice.
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| Rape Seed Fields |
I know Easter is for everyone, everywhere, but I can't help think there was a real significance to the tomb opening in Spring in Jerusalem. Here's wishing you all a wonderful Easter whether you believe or are just enjoy enjoy the bank holiday. May your weekend be filled with joy.
Cheers
Gwynn
Daffodils
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
William Wordsworth
