Now every field is clothed with grass, and every tree with leaves; now the woods put forth their blossoms, and the year assumes its gay attire. This quote from Virgil, who lived in the first century BCE, is a reminder that spring has inspired writers throughout the centuries. I wonder if it’s the most written-about season of all?
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When I included some magnolia flower images in my recent monochrome spring flowers post it was to celebrate their sculptural forms in particular. But while black and white really emphasises those forms, draining them of colour isn’t to everyone’s taste. And to be honest the shapes are just as beautiful and distinctive in colour; while the different shades from pure white through delicate pinks to deep reds and purple are equally worth celebrating.
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A wildflower is usually defined as a flower that grows in the wild, that is, it was not deliberately seeded or planted. Springing up wherever there is a spot in which to grow and thrive, they brighten our walks and provide nectar for bees, butterflies and other insects. In return those insects distribute their pollen and cause more wildflowers to spring up.
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With travel photography impossible right now, I challenged myself recently to see how many interesting details I could photograph within a mile of my own front door. I followed a path I have taken almost daily over the last year or so, and very many times before that. It took me along a couple of suburban streets, past the tennis courts and into our favourite local park, Walpole.
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Or so the old rhyme goes. Actually of course, violets are violet, somewhere between red and blue. When I was young I used to say that green was my favourite colour, and I still love it, but shades of purple and deep pink have edged it into second place these days.
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April is cherry blossom (sakura) month in London. And it has been a wonderful spring for blossom on the street trees of Ealing.
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I can’t remember the last time it snowed properly here. It’s not something I’ve ever welcomed. Living in a city my experience of snow has been largely negative. It messes with our transport system and makes getting anywhere a nightmare; it looks pretty only for a matter of hours and then turns to brown slush; and if the weather stays cold the slush then turns to slick ice patches which (as a person with zero sense of balance) I dread!
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The year that has just past will remain long in all our memories, no doubt, and not for the best of reasons. A year ago the new coronavirus was just seeping into our consciousnesses and we had no idea how it would turn our lives upside down. We certainly know that now!
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I have lived in Ealing for 39 years, and in our present home in South Ealing for 34 years, but I never knew until very recently that Margot Fonteyn lived near here, or that Agatha Christie’s parents are buried in our local cemetery. I didn’t know that Spencer Walpole, who was Home Secretary under three different Tory governments in the mid-19th century, is also buried there.
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When the architect Sir John Soane built his weekend retreat, Pitzhanger Manor, in what was then rural Ealing, his aim was to design a showcase for his own idiosyncratic architectural style with its stripped classical detail, radical colour schemes and inventive use of space and light. Here he would entertain some of the most influential people of the day.
