It’s not all sunshine and flowers. Some days there is no colour at all. But those days have their own special beauty, those days are often the best.
Poppy, dear poppy. A flower that withers in the hand that gathers it, but a flower that brightens up our roadsides, our wastelands, our wheatfields, refusing to die, regardless of what artificial fodder man spreads over the land. A flower that recalls dark times in the fields of Northern France but which, despite its fragility,Continue reading “Red on red”
Where do you begin?