It seems I might have finally struck a chord!

My recent post, catchily entitled "Glad Tidings of Great Joy",

would appear to have connected with the deeper, more sensitive

side of your psyche dear readers and your response,

if not actually viral, has been touching and really rather special.

 

One kindred spirit, Sharon from far away in south Virginia

blessed me with a gently rainy, green morning.

There was no hint of what perfume this greeting carried

but you can't win them all - perhaps it was of purple

lilacs borne on a warm breeze.

Humvee birds!

Deborah, the Julie Andrews of the high and verdant peaks,

sent me a pretty day filled with happy little hummers,
an abundance of parsley, yellow crooknecks, chocolate mint and
loads of cherry tomatoes lit by sparkling sunshine. 

At this point I have a confession

to make as I misread the word hummers as "humvees"

which instantly conjured up a vision of giant roadsters hovering in the

air.  I wonder what variety of mint caused that!

There's always a dog in there somewhere.

 

 Never one to disappoint, sweet Cathering of the White Horse

came up with soft mumblings of affection coupled with

the smell of rain on hot grass and earth

together with kisses like small droplets of moisture

running down the window panes.

 

Bravo, three cheers and well done ladies, I was rather

touched by it all although there are some who would say

that I'm generally a bit touched so no change there!

 

Into each life some rain must fall, scented or otherwise,

which brings me to the French entry!

Rose Window, Chartres Cathedral, France.

 

 

The RSI (Regime Social des Independents) based

at Chartres did not send me rainbows of coloured

light streaming from a thousand panes of sacred stained

glass in their beautiful cathedral but a terse demand for

my second trimestre trading figures with a very

tight deadline of 31 July, or else, which is why I must

end here and immerse myself in my ledgers for

fear of facing a hefty fine or possibly

incarceration in a modern day version of

the dreaded Bastille.

Wonder where she's hidden her calculator?

 

 Now where did I put that old envelop I jotted

those figures down on?