Sunday, 29 January 2017

Dorothy's Dilemma

                                                                                  Early Snowdrops

Dear Reader,

The photograph I put on the blog last week of a Cotswold field, and the thought of a picnic in it, seems to have touched a chord with many of you, and quite a few of you wanted to share the picnic with me, and, if they kept very quiet, they also thought Ratty and Mole might scamper by.  Well, in the gloom of my foggy garden this week, I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw a snowdrop under the tree, bravely pushing through the damp earth, to cheer us.  In fact there were one or two when I went out to inspect them, so it won't be long, I hope, until the spring comes and this dank winter is left behind.

On January 27th 1802, Dorothy Wordsworth wrote from Westmorland :

'A beautiful mild morning; the sun shone; the lake was still, and all the shores reflected in it....the bees were humming about the hive.  William raked a few stones off the garden, his first garden labour this year.  I cut the shrubs.'

On January 31st 1825, John Clare wrote from Northants:

'A yellow crocus and a bunch of single snowdrops in full flower, the mavis thrush has been singing all day long.  Spring seems begun.  The woodbines all over the wood are full leaf'.


Dorothy's Dilemma

Dorothy slowly rode the hill,
eating potted beef and sweet cake,
she glimpsed, growing in green moss,
three primroses in full bloom.

Should she pick them?
December primroses in a jar
adorning the kitchen table
was a temptation, a pretty picture.

She pondered long, then left them
to enjoy the fecund earth,
their natural home,
their rightful place.
Days later, she saw with joy, nestling in the moss,
her primroses, flourishing,
uninjured by cold or rain
or human hand.

With best wishes, Patricia


Anonymous said...

What a joyous poem for these grim days. Roll on Spring indeed! x

Jessica said...

Thanks Mum for bringing these touching reminders of how important our connection to nature is to us
and, from your poem, how we need to make a conscious effort to nurture that and be its guardian.