The curtains are drawn against the bright sunlight, a couple of days of good weather, we are blessed. The narcissus in the pots just outside the window have broken free of their sheaths and their pale lemon welcomes the sun. The double petalled pink primrose has also broken cover as has the dark red, but edged with gold - primula. Spring flowers pass by quickly heralding the season but not stopping long.
At the end of the garden, the pink/red flowers of the flowering currant stand in relief against the evergreen dark leaves of the ceanothus (Californian lilac) and I look forward to that powdery blue it will display later on.
Book reading; I do not read, or listen now, to a lot of stuff. My brain refuses to regurgitate any more facts, knowledge or the learning of it is there, to be picked up as the memories flood through my thinking. A friend brought back Frostquake by Juliet Nicholson she had borrowed and we both agreed that this particular recollection of the year 1962 did not actually match up with our remembering of it. Though in hindsight it was a good historic timeline.
Have been listening to Gormenghast via my phone. Pound created a disreputable bunch of characters when he wrote the book but as I listen what captures my mind is the sheer volume of description the author gave to the book. So that I am walking with Fuchsia as she wanders around the wastelands that surround the great castle, or pondering on the great horizontal tree that grows from the side of the castle and the two batty sisters that occupy the Room of the Roots.
Where was Pound going with all this dreamt up nonsense, or maybe it has some sort of significance. We are left with Lewis, Tolkein and Ezra Pound great fairy tales, written roughly around the same time - what inspired it all?