Glimpse of early rape

. . . on leaving the village . . .

Ephemerality

The cherry tree's . . .

. . . flowerage . . .

here does it end.

Rhapsody in Green

. . . while waiting for a train.

Friday is Skyday

Stairs to . . . ?

On the road

Green green trees of home.
Or so.

Mayday

There's a humming and buzzing,
a droning and whirring in and around Seanhenge*,
and a blaze of colours that would fill anyone
who has ears to hear, eyes to see and a nose to smell,
with joy and happiness.

* Thankfully, Seanhenge happens to be not situated
in . . . and . . . and . . . and . . . and . . .
oh well, you get the picture.
I am grateful.