I want to bottle the scent of freesias and give it to you, all my childhood picnics in an amber vial. That you may never be lonely in winter or forget the honeysuckle spring. I know it’s a big bad world out there but there is a paradise as well, a patch of blue sky between branches that appears as I swing-wing on my rainbow hammock in the garden green. Don’t cry, Ladybird, lift your little wing-cases and fly.

The Narcissus are blooming. Little gold faced saints gazing at their own reflections. They are cruel to their lovers who pine away unto Echoes on the wind. Most beautiful things are a little sad really.