It’s Bank Holiday weekend. Not May Day weekend, as it should be; nor yet “Spring bank holiday”, as I thought it might be. It’s simply “Early May bank holiday”, an anodyne phrase with no dangerous political connotations to offend or inspire.
It poured with rain half the night and is still damp and unappealing outdoors and uninspiring indoors, so I thought I’d brighten things up with some recent photos.
Having been through selecting and rejecting photos and resizing them for the blog, I have remembered a poem I abandoned probably eight or so years ago, which may be vaguely appropriate here:
A neighbour brings his sheep to graze
the knee-deep weeds that grow unchecked
in my orchard. He waves his walking stick
and hollers at the youngest lamb, apologising
he forgot the glamour magazines his daughter
brought last time she visited from town.
He tells me this week’s ‘weddings special’ features
designs from New York, Paris and Milan -
all chiffons, satins, pastel lace and froth. I bet
there’s not an image in it to compete
with that lamb scrumping apple blossom.