I couldn’t quite get the angle I wanted for this one because of the shape of the courtyard, the elevations and the presence of lots of tourists. But, as with many other urban tree ‘portraits’ I’ve shown in the past, I was taken by the wall behind as a canvas for this solitary tree.
During Spring break in early April we took a train trip to Canterbury.
This listed local building features a timbered late 16th century wing.
Before this sculpture garden of spinning cones was erected, we had the opportunity to bang dyes with hammers into the sheets of brass that they’re constructed from.
And from the Heath, we walked into the Bourne Wood.
After the Museum of Rural Life we walked on Farnham Heath. After almost withering away altogether, it has bounced back, as numerous before and after placards reminded us. Click any image to see them all full-sized.
In New York, for the last several years, early Spring has been heralded by hordes of tulips (I don’t remember when this became a thing; it definitely wasn’t when I was growing up). In Farnham, it seems to be daffodils which, unlike NYC’s daffodils, are growing wild everywhere you look.
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
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.
