In the four days since I walked down the lane with Tess, so many plants have appeared - each day there are more. I took a few photographs on our afternoon walk
The wild gooseberry is in full flower and it is warm enough for a bumble bee to be busy amongst the flowers. Let's hope there is no frost until the fruit has set, although wild gooseberries are so very sour that I am not sure whether any creature eats them or not.
The first of the dandelions has appeared. What a pity these flowers are considered to be weeds because they are such a tonic on a dull day. Our roadsides will be thick with them within a day or two.
One of my favourite early flowers is the coltsfoot. It seems to grow where there is a gritty surface and the flowers always show before the leaves - in fact I am not sure what the leaves look like. Now the forget-me-nots (Mysotis) are beginning to bloom - some a very deep blue and some like the photograph a paler blue.
I also found one patch of Muscari (grape hyacinth) which I guess has been thrown out into the hedgeback with some garden rubbish. They really are an intense deep blue.
Then of course there is the celandine. Jim on Riverdaze had some wonderful photographs of celandine on his blog last week. I have got them all over our front garden and I am so loath to
weed them out as they have woven their way through Primula Wanda and they look so pretty
Maybe when they have finished flowering......
Last but not least - one solitary cowslip. I cannot tell you what a beautiful scent this little flower had Hopefully it is the first of many.
On a different note, this morning was our Writers' Group discussion meeting. Half a dozen of us meet once a month and submit a piece which we want everyone to discuss. As usual this morning was very interesting. One member had written a piece about judging people at face value - this provoked a very lively discussion. Next came a piece from a member who used to be in the BBC Chorus - she wrote about some of the amusing episodes when they sang in live broadcasts. I submitted a poem which we took to pieces and re-arranged. But the really interesting piece was from a lady who does not have English as her first language, but who speaks it fluently. She had written a "poem" - it was very long and was really just a piece of well-written prose split up into little bits. But the crunch came when we had to say what poetry was and why this piece was not it! We got into very deep water and really did not come up with really good reasons. Isn't poetry hard to define?
Stephen Fry in his book "The Ode Less Travelled" says: "With prose the eye is doing much more than the ear." And later "But prose, rhythmic as it can be, is not poetry. The rhythm is not organised." Would anybody like to have a stab at this? If so perhaps I could make a list
of your suggestions. It really does interest me. What do you think?