It's lambing season so many fields have little tiny white dots next to big white dots - babies with their mums as they say here. My family appreciates the cute little lambs but I've been driving them crazy wanting to get some pictures. I've stopped on the roadside to snap pictures of espcially cute 'little guys' as we call them. Last week I made Dennis turn around so I could have some pictures of these cute little white ones. Aren't you glad he humored me and went back so you could see them? 
This one reminds us of our little Bichon, Buddy, because he used to lay like this and we called him our 'little lambie'.
The grass is always green here due to the rain but now the green is covered with lemon yellow daffodils by the hundreds! It's so inspirational and uplifting. 
I can see why Lake District poet, William Wordsworth penned his famous Daffodils poem.
I can see why Lake District poet, William Wordsworth penned his famous Daffodils poem.Daffodils by William Wordsworth
I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
2 comments:
It does my heart good to see Wordsworth's words displayed in your blog. I love that poem, just because it makes me happy. I, too, would like to "dance with the daffodils". Of course, August is blasting its own Spring tune with sprays of daffodils, azaleas, dogwood, and the like. The pollen count isn't completely unbearable yet. The Indigo Girls were right when they penned "There's something 'bout the Southland in the Springtime". Happy Spring!
jenn
It does my heart good to see Wordsworth's words displayed in your blog. I love that poem, just because it makes me happy. I, too, would like to "dance with the daffodils". Of course, August is blasting its own Spring tune with sprays of daffodils, azaleas, dogwood, and the like. The pollen count isn't completely unbearable yet. The Indigo Girls were right when they penned "There's something 'bout the Southland in the Springtime". Happy Spring!
jenn
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