Bumbling about

Today has very much been a day of rest.  Got up late, bumbled about doing little bits of tidying, clipped a very small box bush growing by the front door, went for a very short walk, remembered - just - to pay my credit card bill before they whanged on the penalties, read, drank tea, tried not to fall asleep.  Failed.

The shot I got along the track this morning.  The bramble flowers are in full beauty mode right now and providing a wonderful reminder they are of the rose family.  Not much between this and a dog rose, is there?  And this year the flowers are so large.

On the strength of that rather tenuous link a poem's been added below.

This is the last day of WildflowerWeek_10 and here and now is a good moment to remind you that, from tomorrow until Sunday 23rd, Wildflower challenge entries should be tagged WFW19_11

Bee happy  xx

All That's Past

VERY old are the woods; 
And the buds that break
Out of the brier's boughs, 
When March winds wake,
So old with their beauty are-- 
Oh, no man knows
Through what wild centuries 
Roves back the rose.
Very old are the brooks; 
And the rills that rise
Where snow sleeps cold beneath 
The azure skies
Sing such a history 
Of come and gone,
Their every drop is as wise
As Solomon.

Very old are we men;
Our dreams are tales
Told in dim Eden
By Eve's nightingales;
We wake and whisper awhile,
But, the day gone by,
Silence and sleep like fields
Of amaranth lie.

Walter De La Mare