…’Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.’…
Signs of spring.
Bulbs pushing tentatively forth and the scent of daphne – I swoon.
Long shadowed golden light before bedtime – a rare treat in itself.
Two hours at Cotehele house and the first proper day of half term (the weekend was merely a warm-up – a pre-fandango – a piffle)