Full to the brim

It's all or nothing

at this time of year.

I'm tripping over my feet

and the blog is getting left behind.

We've had the tulips, haven't we?

the wisteria,

the cow parsley.

Wait. Cow parsley.

Isn't that June?

The mad weather.

The lovely house visits.

Here - take a look out of Rudyard Kipling's windows

and catch your breath. 

Scotney Castle

doing all the colours

especially in the azalea and acer ranges.

Irises.

Each flower just a one day showing.

Sissinghurst on  a warm sunny Easter weekend.

Are you mad you ask?

The hordes.

But no.

See?

Not

a soul.

Because

if you arrive before opening time

and eschew the café

walk briskly

 and purposefully as soon as they will let you in,

you are quite likely

to be ahead of everyone.

And finally, if you aren't paying attention

the grandchildren will be

off to big school

and the shopping trolley

parked under the piano

will be very old hat.

Spring corners

It has been the most remarkable year for Mimosa.

It must have been that early February warmth because

I have never seen it flower so abundantly.

I usually miss the moment when a few branches can be found at the florist

but this year it was everywhere, smelling of clean water.

This one was in a scrubby little patch next to some public toilets.

Bonnard had it outside his studio window.

This painting at the  Tate Modern exhibition

made a change from all the ones of his wives

stretched out palely in tepid bathwater.

Gorse and its coordinating This Way sign.

Purple leaved plum, now sadly blown about by recent gales.

Wild garlic.

Banner in a patch of rarely penetrating sunlight.

 A bold decision to paint this dresser top.

Previously preserved in all its knotty, stained, 

multi-nailed original condition for twenty years, 

because it somehow seemed necessary to respect its antique status, 

I suddenly saw it for what it was - ugly.

And it wouldn't be Spring (or Autumn) without observing

that the rainbows are back.