Snowdrops
In England, springtime is always heralded by snowdrops. They seem such delicate flowers - bursting as they do from small bulbs hidden beneath the surface of the soil. Snowdrops grow in people's gardens but in my view they are best seen in wild or natural environments. Today - before preparing the Sunday roast dinner - I drove out of the city to Shotts Lane. It is a cul-de-sac where I have often parked Clint and previous vehicles too - Keith, Dave the Ford Focus, Pierre and Graham the Seat Ibiza. With boots on, I set off marching my very familiar circular route. If I don't loiter or stop to take photographs, the walk takes me exactly an hour. This morning I was slowed down by the snowdrops that gather on the banks of Redcar Brook. Such a beautiful display this year. Thousands of them. I paused to take pictures as I acknowledged their loveliness. They were so lovely that tomorrow I plan to add a poem called "Snowdrops" to this blogpost. Googling "snowdrops...