Dear Thathu,
Let me tell you about the little village I live, Clapham, in North Bedfordshire. Near our place, we have gorgeous paths that are fresh and green in summer and golden brown in autumn. It is difficult to decide which season is better but I love to go for little walks with Sarah whenever we have the time. We love creating little stories as we go along about other people who may have walked there before us.
Posted below is a photo of a path near a church yard. This was taken last summer. As you walk by, you hear the birds above you and the gentle rustle of trees. It is one of Sarah's favourite walks because there is a big hole in one of the trees where, she claims, lives an owl. We have never seen the owl but every time we pass by I get to hear a new story about the owl and what it was doing at that particular time :-)
But for me the path holds another special place. It reminds me somehow of the green Male' I grew up. It may be different vegetation but nevertheless the sunshine in summer and the green always reeks of nostalgia.
Let me tell you about the little village I live, Clapham, in North Bedfordshire. Near our place, we have gorgeous paths that are fresh and green in summer and golden brown in autumn. It is difficult to decide which season is better but I love to go for little walks with Sarah whenever we have the time. We love creating little stories as we go along about other people who may have walked there before us.
Posted below is a photo of a path near a church yard. This was taken last summer. As you walk by, you hear the birds above you and the gentle rustle of trees. It is one of Sarah's favourite walks because there is a big hole in one of the trees where, she claims, lives an owl. We have never seen the owl but every time we pass by I get to hear a new story about the owl and what it was doing at that particular time :-)
But for me the path holds another special place. It reminds me somehow of the green Male' I grew up. It may be different vegetation but nevertheless the sunshine in summer and the green always reeks of nostalgia.
When on a summer's morn I wake,
And open my two eyes,
Out to the clear, born-singing rills
My bird-like spirit flies.
To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush,
Or any bird in song;
And common leaves that hum all day
Without a throat or tongue.
And open my two eyes,
Out to the clear, born-singing rills
My bird-like spirit flies.
To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush,
Or any bird in song;
And common leaves that hum all day
Without a throat or tongue.
W. H. Davies
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