Monday, April 29, 2013

New leaves, whistling and detail.

1. Bright green leaves on a hawthorn hedge.

2. As we come through the front door, the sound of Grandad whistling.

3. It dawns on me that the 'chips' Alec is complaining about are the tiny snips of chive on his potatoes. I pick both of them out and he digs in.

Tarry, rolling back and one last taste.

1. Much that I would like to sit and visit for longer packed in with red and crimson cushions and blankets, lit by a bright window and drink...