Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there. I let my neighbour know beyond the hill; And on a day we meet to walk the line
I'm re-posting this again from a couple of days ago because for some reason it didn't appear properly and very few people were able to see it which was a shame because I think it's a beautiful photo from Ruth and I'm very proud of my Purple podded peas from the allotment, absolutely delicious !
“This country is the asylum of nations
and it will defend that asylum to the last ounce of its treasure.”
(The London Times - 1853)
'Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all'
Too much imagination, too many miles apart
That's the distance from desire to something true
These love songs and negotiations in between my head and heart
Always leave me somewhere caught between the two
The Piano Blog
I'm trying to play the Piano for a while most days. Just improvising whatever comes into my head.
Just to capture a moment.
All these pieces are unedited, one take and so mistakes are included !
All Photographs by Ruth Field
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