welsh hills again

  The blossom on the wild cherry is perfection in its white delicacy.     In the garden the intense yellow green sings of May,  here smyrnium perfolitatum, a triennial. And here euphorbia characias.  If I were an insect I would live in it.   Or maybe in these magnolias.  Look at the thick creamy sculpted flowers.  What a home they would make.   Out in the orchard the apple trees are coming into flower.     And in the pots in front of the house an explosion of orange tulips: Ballerina, Hermitage and Couleur Cardinal.  Can we just hold the moment for a little longer?

All sorts of things are crowding for attention here on the blog after a few days when my laptop died and went away to be resuscitated.  (Thank you Alison of the Allyway ).  It's just like a car breaking down: one moment you are taking it entirely for granted and the next you realise that your whole life is built around having access to it.  It showed the blue screen of death and I began to prepare myself for its funeral but Alison not only retrieved all my data but got the whole thing working again, slicker than ever. So here is a canter through some of things that have been happening. I spent a few days down in Devon with my parents.  It was that beautiful week when the sun shone so warm that the smell of spring was everywhere.  My sister and I, with my son and his wife, took the dogs up onto Dartmoor one afternoon.  The grass was not yet greening up on the moor but the stream was brown and clear like whisky. There was swimming to be done if yo...