‘I Am a Cameraman’ is the title of a twentieth century poem by Douglas Dunn.
A photo diary…
In the ground and in pots, sunshiny daffodils succeeded the cool blues, whites and crisp yellows of stalwart Winter bulbs.
Blurry birds… A female crest and two pairs of finches.
It rained the last two nights.
An eggless raspberry bellied bake Twitcher fuel – Kitchen-side of the glass
The rubble bank is exactly that: a peculiar, linear, broken brick and excavated, relocated dirt mound at the top of our garden.
Pumpkats – Rattertats! Hatterchats? Soupcats!
In the pursuit of pretty, there are two kinds of gardener who wilfully apportion several weekend evening hours to hosing down their lawn, in a heavy storm, on the darker side of dusk.
A lone reflection for sorrow A life-long mate brings mirth Fledgling foretells a funeral Charming broods a live birth