Listen. With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees And fall. Adelaide Crapsey
Warning: this post is heavy on poetry and purple prose. On the Bank Holiday Monday couple of friends and I set off to visit the Sissinghurst Castle in Kent. It was a cold, rather dreary day, the sky hanging low, and no amount of wishing and hoping on out part would make the clouds part. … More England’s song
I very strongly associate some writers, books, pieces of music with specific seasons. It is finally summer(ish) in England, and the first warm, long evenings have made me reach for Virginia Woolf. Fingering my copy of A Room of One’s Own (the edition is from the year I was born), I wanted to write a … More Virginia, Virginia!