Nostalgia and wild flowers.....

It is raining today and chilly. I have been cleaning out some of the chests in the bedroom and decided I would complete the task this afternoon......while clearing bits and pieces I stumbled across my gt. grandmothers poetry book.........and a book of paintings that was my grandmothers............I started to drift back into childhood days and could see my gt. grandmother quite clearly. She lived with nannie and gramps during her last few years. She would walk the cottage garden smelling the roses and other scented plants. She was very much the lady.....in fact Dad tells me that in the local village they called her 'the duchess' because of her genteel ways and good manners...... I found myself smiling at sweet memories.....

This is one of my favourite paintings in my grandmothers book ( 80 years old)........it was done by a member of the family. I never knew my grandmother, she died when Dad was four.....Gramps remarried..........

I think there is an artistic streak in our family........I think mine takes shape in my handwriting.....I still write with ink......I believe it is a dying art, to write properly.......but recently I have felt a rapport with my camera and I am going to take my photography more seriously........I hope over the next year you will begin to see changes in the way I look at things....I hope you will guide me with your comments and critism is very welcome, it is another way of learning......but for now I leave you with one of the poems from Gt Grandma's poetry book.......it is called EVENING and is by Bee McCullen......I have uploaded some wildflowers....I took these photographs today in the garden......My Gt Grandmother loved wildflowers, so this in memory of her......

The songs of the birds have ended,

The tasks of the day are done,

And into the cottage windows

The lights come one by one;

The hills are folded in darkness

That burnt with the noonday heat,

The air is filled with the perfume

Of jasmine and meadow-sweet.

The white moth stirs in the grasses,

The screech-owl calls from the hill,

Then peace descends on the village,
And even the trees are still;

And nature and man have entered

The calm that follows the day,

While night with her cool soft fingers

Is smoothing life's cares away................