Snowdrops abound and walking around without flattening their modest maiden blooms is a challenge. They really are such delightful, romantic little flowers, aren't they? So pure and white, the "Chaste Snowdrop, venturous harbinger of Spring" as William Wordsworth wrote (1819).  On a very quiet Sunday that is St Valentine's Day with not much to occupy me, or at least, not much that I allowed to occupy me, which isn't quite the same thing I suppose, my thoughts turned to those I love and loved and having returned home from a frenzy of snowdrop photography, I found a poem, an ode really, to Snowdrops, written by my Father's favourite poet: 

"Many, many welcomes, 
February fair-maid,
Ever as of old time,
Solitary firstling,
Coming in the cold time,
Prophet of the gay time,
Prophet of the May time,
Prophet of the roses, 
Many, many welcomes,
February fair-maid!
- Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)

And just when you are about to click away in dismay at my uncharacteristically sickly sweet romantic (with a small 'r') commentary on this rather solitary Valentines day, I'll tell you that my late afternoon passed in louder volume as I watch England win today's rugby - yay.  Nothing very modest or maidenly about a prop forward.  Oh boy.