Bluebells

Although my favourite colour is yellow
My favourite flower is the Bluebell.......
Bluebells have featured often in the background of my life.
My garden has 6 bunches of Bluebells, one lovingly  transferred from my previous home in Sheffield, a plant stolen from the grounds of Chatsworth House in Derbyshire over 18 years ago.

In my kitchen stands proud a large collection of Art Deco Burleigh Ware pottery of varying designs. 
My favourite is, of course , Bluebell ...a few splashes of blue, black and green, beautifully simple and beautifully pleasing. 


My car is called Bluebell and she stands for everything positive at a time in my life I had very little and as a child one of my favourite place to play was in Bluebell wood , a small copse of trees located on the hillside between Prestatyn and Gronant. . 
My grandparents are buried near the same Bluebell Wood, their headstone facing their beloved Liverpool.

Every Early May I would often go to Bodnant Gardens as the Bluebells would be out and old readers of 
Going Gently May remember The last Mabel Post with a visit to the wonderful Bluebell Wood




The first painting my husband and I bought together was a gentle Victorian watercolour of a Bluebell wood . I miss it so. I miss it because it is so beautiful and subtle and understated and I loved it so that we immediately chose it together......
He took it when he left and I miss looking at it with a strange visual-ish  grief

Last year I split a large garden knot of Bluebells from my garden and planted it in the corner of the old graveyard. This year I will check if it has been taken 
And started a new colony of gentle blue just opposite to the cottage windows 



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Redemption

 In nature’s stillness

A lovely soliloquy 

Arises

And on the 

Angelic whispers

I come alive

In knowledge 

That my footsteps

Are never 

Unaided

For in

The Christ child 

Scarred beginnings 

Have uncannily 

Beautiful endings

In weakness 

Comes strength 

In surrender

Redemption 



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Eternally

 The scenic vista

Of  the soaring waves

That ebb as I appear

I am a molecule 

In the grandeur 

That is creation

I envision 

A Tuscan countryside 

Made real

All those 

Years ago

Who knew

When a dream

Becomes reality

It’s possibility 

Remains 

And is etched 

In memory 

Eternally



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Rhymes

 I had a dream about my grandmother last night.
She was reciting a rhyme, one that she taught me as a child.
When I woke I remembered it, in its entirety 
Has anyone heard this before? 

I went to my grandmother's garden
I went to my grandmother's garden,
and I found an Irish Farthing,
I gave it to my mother,
who bought a little brother,
The brother was so cross,
We put him on a hoss,
the horse was such a dandy,
we gave him a glass of brandy,
the brandy was too strong,
we put it in a pond,
the pond was too deep,
we put it on a heap,
the heap was too high,
we put it in a pie,
the pie was too little ,
we put it in a kettle,
the kettle had a spout ,
and they all jumped out! 


What rhyme do you remember?


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