Archives for July 2009
In the morning I found a cold silver bell, dripping dew, in my garden. Left behind by midnight revellers, it was caught on a vine and played a silken melody to the wind. I picked it like a tiny argent… continue reading »
Meg, wearing mackintosh boots and a red mackintosh, and with a red sou’wester tied beneath her chin, splashed down the drive, and under dripping oak-trees, in a state of happiness deeper and more perfect than any other she was likely… continue reading »