Growing season, for everything is sprouting and striving and straining towards the light.
This introvert, hiding beneath the kerria blooms with the paper on a Saturday afternoon. Gal after my own heart.
A walk along the canal with women who share my blood and bone. What quiet delights: cow parsley at every turn, mother ducks shepherding puffball ducklings, all feather and fluff. Peeking into the narrowboat homes that line the canal. Watching herons steal across the marshy edge of the water, feathers slicked back, dressed in their finery – so straight-spined and upright, they remind me of avuncular old men who still slick back their dark licks of hair with the Bryllcream of their youth. To round it off, as raindrops began to fall, a lime&soda and sweet potato fries in the pub on the bend. Sunday perfection.
Afternoons with my grandparents, always.
We finally made it to the Design Museum, only a stop along the line from our flat. Small but perfectly formed, I’m still thinking about good versus bad design – and whether there might be something to feminist design after all…
These rhubarb plants, and the resulting rhubarb cordial I brewed up this evening.
And the bluebells that bloom every year, without fail. By their nature, each spring they are bigger and better than the last. I have such fond memories of saving up for my first proper camera as a teenage-something and spending hours every spring evening capturing their purple mass. Nothing changes much at all, hey?
‘Art time’ with this one. Such a pleasure to snap and to learn. Always inspired by her creativity.