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For the last few days I have noticed a beautiful blossom tree at the top of the road where I live, its bows arched regally towards the ground laden with the softest of pink blossom flowers. So, yesterday I decided to wander up, camera in hand and take a closer look, most of the blossom trees around here have already lost their flowers and are now all leaves but this one is simply beautiful. Its unusual because there are no individual clusters of blossoms that you would usually associate with this type of tree, but each and every bow is covered from end to end, which gives the appearance of fireworks trailing across the night sky and blossom is not a deep cherry pink, it is the palest pastel pink you could imagine which against the light appears white, almost translucent, with a heart of deepest crimson. Shooting upwards towards the sun gave me the best angle at which to show the blossom in all its beauty, the sun just giving the softest of highlights, like a ballerina in the spotlight.

 

White on White

Spring

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The older I become the more my own mortality plays on my mind. Silly some may say as I am still relatively young, but it is something that creeps into my thoughts more and more, triggered by some song on the radio, or by the sight of another season passing you by. Someone once said ‘Youth is wasted on the Young’, maybe, for sure I couldn’t wait to be an adult and live my life my way when I was a teenager. But now I see things so differently, almost as if I’m losing my grip on the life I so wanted and yet still eludes me, all the things you set out to achieve suddenly seem so far away that you wonder if you will ever achieve them. It’s my Mum’s birthday tomorrow, I wont give away her age as she would be most upset, but every year that we celebrate becomes a reminder that my beloved parents wont always be there, a sobering thought, for something so constant, so reliable and predictable will one day be lost forever. But that is where my thoughts turn to a new way of thinking, Ive never been one for practising religion but I believe in something more than just this life, that one day I will be reunited with all the loved ones that I have lost, somehow that thought makes the anguish subside just a little. At some point in our lives we all have to let go, whether that is letting go of a past that haunts you, a deed that you regret or words that were said in the heat of a moment, or the loss of a loved one or a pet that loved you so unconditionally in return, we all hold on for as long as is humanly possible, until the time comes for letting go……….

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In bygone times getting up and getting dressed was somewhat more challenging than it is today. Ladies dwelling in country houses had a maid who would await the call and then rush to the Lady’s room to assist her in dressing for the day ahead. Nowadays we simply reach for the few items that we generally wear and we are out the door, but not so long ago this act took a considerable amount of time, layer upon layer of garments were applied before the finished look was achieved, two or three under garments, corsets laced tightly, petticoats the list goes on. You can only imagine the weight of the clothing and the restricted movement that the garments allowed, but this must have been far outweighed by the beauty and elegance of the dress of the era. But somehow I feel we have lost something in the way we dress in modern society, the androgernous look of clothing worn by both men and women, little distinction  of the sexes, smartness replaced by a sloppy casualness. How wonderful the days of dressing up to simply go to dinner, or to dress appropriately for church, the feeling those women must have gained from entering a room and being admired for their fashion and beauty. How sad that today the same clothes are worn to dig the garden as well as to dine out…..how mundane the choice of fashions we find upon the high streets, the same stores selling the same clothes in every town and city. The hat and the glove relegated to use at weddings and funerals and countless other accessories worn by generations of English ladies now kept locked away in trinket boxes never to be worn with the pride they once were. We live in those women’s futures, a future which they dreamed of, so why do I long for their past?

 

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On a recent visit to a English Country House I took a wander into a very special greenhouse. I believe its actually called a hot house and boy were they right! On a cold crisp English Spring day I sought shelter in its warmth, opening the door of the hot house that has stood for over a hundred years and stepping into a subtropical world. The warmth was so welcoming, with every step further in I felt myself carried to a far away island, the scent of the plants from distant shores, oblivious to the freezing world beyond the window panes. My layers of clothing suddenly began to feel heavy and unnecessary the further in I walked, the flowers reaching up to the blue sky above yet their scent hung low and intoxicated your every breath. Through a second door and the temperature rose substantially, almost sauna like conditions prevailed here, plants resembling bananas, flowers more like aliens and exotic fruit trees bursting into bud. Within seconds my camera had completely steamed over! As I cleared the lens I looked down and below the Camelia tree was a single fallen Camelia blossom, still beautiful but in the early throws of death, petals turning a subtle shade of brown against the radiance of the creamy heart, the gold tendrils like a crown still strong and proud, lifted to the light, still hoping for attention, timeless beauty now against the clock of nature, the cycle of birth, life and death in a corner of a hot house, on the coldest of English days……

 

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Wandering around there are signs that Spring may not be so far away although looking out the window this morning it seems as if Winter is making a return yet again. Speaking to my dad yesterday it feels as if winter has gone on and on and still has something to throw at us, as I look out the window it is snowing! But, last week I enjoyed a taster of whats hopefully to come, the sun shone all day and it felt warm to the skin. Birds were singing high in the tree tops and hedgerows appeared to have a hint of green about their spindly branches, crops are starting to emerge and the once brown fields now sprout a green stubble. At this time last year I posted images of snowdrops, this year I have found the riot of colour provided by the humble Crocus too good not to share, especially when planted in abundance, pale purples with a blase of yellow reflecting the colour of Easter eggs in the confectionery shop windows, a welcome cheeryness in an otherwise greying landscape.

 

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No matter what the day throws at you, flowers have a way of reminding you that beauty exists in the darkest of places………..

 

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This struck me as quite a comical moment, I’m sat at the car wash in town whilst the guy does the attended pre-wash bit, spraying the alloys and jet-washing the windscreen, I have the radio on even though I know at some point the radio will lose signal! He beckons me to move forward onto the bit that rolls your car through the automated car wash and advises me to engage neutral but leave the engine running, I haven’t seen him here before and so he does not know that I am a regular here and so know the drill well (after an incident where I automatically switched off the engine which resulted in losing the power-steering which in turn resulted in  my car being bumped along as the wheel were locked in the wrong position…..hmmm embarrassing!!)……anyway, just as the light goes green and the car lurches towards the huge rolling blue brushes and fluroescent purple foam the radio starts to play ”At The CarWash” by Rose Royce! So there I am, sat in my car in the middle of the car wash singing ”At the Car wash” at the top of my voice…….coincidence or what???