It’s another cold, grey, damp afternoon. I don’t know about you, but I’m in desperate need of warmth and sunshine. In its absence, I’ve decided to share Spring Festival with you once again. Then I’ll brew up a cuppa and dream of summer days. Hope you enjoy reading it.
After forty days and forty nights Snowdrops drip their way into the wings, Spring highlights a flurry of forsythia. Brash daffs polishing tarnished trumpets weave a mixed melody. After the gold rush, smoke gets in your eyes Still...