All that talk of rain and sun reminded me of a walk in the Dales with Mrs Turnstone and Mrs Rook. Sometimes the Sun does come out!
Horas Non Numero nisi Serenas
In an unexpected half-hour of sunshine, a scarlet pimpernel half-opened a flower outside our holiday cottage door.
Careering down a path where perhaps I should not have been cycling, I enjoyed a Wordsworth moment. No golden daffodils, no lake, no trees to speak of, just the end of a hornbeam hedge up against a hideous galvanised steel fence. But miles from any field, between the concrete path and the base of the fence, there spread a single plant of the scarlet pimpernel, turning to face the southing sun.
Not so long ago, maybe forty years, this path was a field path, this land was part of a farm. The soil was disturbed when the new fence was put in, no doubt to protect the school children from whatever dangers might lurk on the path. Even an earthbound constellation of red dwarfs.