a sense of order

Occasionally, offices, hotels and bars choose books as a decorative element in their communal and public spaces, particularly if they have such a suitable setting and furniture as the room in the photo.

Of course, such lovely old shelves require a certain standard or style of books and, all too often, these are bought for the bindings rather than the content.
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hic sunt dracones

scarlet snapdragonI have a soft spot for dragons. Especially red ones. So naturally I stopped to photograph these flowers when I saw them in the park yesterday.

Then I found something even more dragon-like:
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a point to writing

pen nibs

I was surprised this week to be told by the WordPress robots that I registered this blog six years ago. (If they are right, I must have fudged some dates at the beginning as the first post is dated 23rd April 2007.)

During those six years I’ve written over 750 posts. Some have featured photos and very little text, but some have straggled on well beyond the 500 words that I think is a good maximum length for a blog post. This means there’s probably enough text in this blog for three full-length novels – one written every couple of years – without any great effort on my part.
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on the edge of memory

A few days ago, I read a poem by a friend which reminded me of a short story. Sadly, I can’t remember who wrote it: it might have been Saki; perhaps it was Wilde; there’s a very slight chance it was Lovecraft. (I’m fairly sure it was unlike most of the other stories I know by the same author.)

I’m a long way from my own bookshelves, so after racking my brains unsuccessfully, I have had to resort to trying to find the story via the web.

single crocus close up.
I think the scene was a domestic drawing-room as the afternoon slips towards dusk.

I half remember beautiful scenery, or it might have been the view of a garden through French windows; it could even have been potted plants, I suppose, though I think they would have been perfumed, not simply aspidistras.

There was music; probably celestial, though it might have been a piano. There was a dreamer and a dream, perhaps of classical gods; a promise of immortality, or of life in a different dimension…
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