memories Spring pours sunshine through the woods to dapple on my polished shoes. I hear birdsong echo children’s laughter; green is a scent, a taste fresh on my tongue. (The opening lines of an old poem.) Share this: Email a link to a friend (Opens in new window) Email Print (Opens in new window) Print More Share on X (Opens in new window) X Share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Reddit Share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) LinkedIn Share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Pinterest Share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook Share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Tumblr Share on Pocket (Opens in new window) Pocket Like Loading... Related Author: don't confuse the narrator Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion View all posts by don't confuse the narrator
Adore those ‘proper delicate bluebells – I’m afraid the chunky ‘Spanish’ variety in my garden will have to go! LikeLike Reply
It’s only a couple of weeks since I learned there were two types. They seem to have interbred in many places, so I was delighted to see the ones on the common are *proper* ones! LikeLike Reply
don't confuse the narrator 
Adore those ‘proper delicate bluebells – I’m afraid the chunky ‘Spanish’ variety in my garden will have to go!
LikeLike
It’s only a couple of weeks since I learned there were two types. They seem to have interbred in many places, so I was delighted to see the ones on the common are *proper* ones!
LikeLike