THE LAST SPRING?

This poem was humming in my head as I pottered in the garden this afternoon.  Not that I have any reason, as the poet did, to believe this might be my last year - more that it was a reminder that it is worth living each of these glorious spring days as though we may never see another. 

THE LAST YEAR


This is the last year. 
There will be no other, 
but heartless nature 
seemingly relents. 
Never has a winter sun 
spilled so much light, 
never have so many flowers 
dared such early bloom. 
The air is brilliant, sharp. 
Never have I taken 

such long, long breaths. 

Robert Friend

A morning walk and lunch out with the Prof,  a long blether with my son and heir and a free massage from a colleague.  Not a bad day off.