Old haunts

London Pride

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=8RxT5CBHsJA

... we’re in there somewhere in that crowd.

The old place seems to be thriving without me. No Mow May (as well as December to April) has created a rather lovely wildlife haven.

The day started with a jarring reminder of the Veneerings with some children playing on the village green outside. One of them shouted at the same pitch as Mr Veneering and I was rather shocked at how quickly I was transported back to their relentless rows. Shortly afterwards I had a call from an unknown number and it turned out to be the chap who owns the Airbnb (the window in the blip) that was next door. He has just realised I have moved and was asking how things are.
All this oddly came at the point when I had just decided I’d head over to collect more of my old plants. It was looking beautiful in its very overgrown state and the whole row was very quiet. I do miss it.
I saw one of the ladies of the village who told me that Mrs Veneering has been living back at a friend’s in the village for weeks now. So that all went predictably well then.
I was going to have a walk across the field but didn’t really feel like it in the end so I headed up to Celleron and walked up to High Winder and onto the Fell. It always feels like Dreamtime up there - skylarks, wheatear, a hunting kestrel and an abundance of flowers in the fields.
Then back to the new garden to sort the plants out.

Dirge Without Music - Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.