Wild rose

We have been fortunate that the day has been spent with family all around us – there was Granny and Grandpa, middle son, his wife and our two granddaughters (aged 7 and 5) and The Traveller (our youngest son) with his girlfriend. We then all joined in with a FaceTime this afternoon with our eldest son, who is in Portugal with his wife and our eldest granddaughter for half term.

And now, this evening, Granny and Grandpa are shattered. We’ve just cleared up, washed up and Smithers is prepping tomorrow’s breakfast muesli and fruit while Granny is uploading her blip and writing her daily personal illustrated journal on her Mac.

Today’s blip was taken with the help of our youngest granddaughter, who followed me round the garden pointing out bumblebees on geraniums for me to photograph. In the end, though, it was the wild rose that won the day, and I’ve added a poem from the Flower Fairies by Cicely Mary Barker to accompany it, for reasons which will be come apparent as you read on!

The Wild Rose Fairy

I am the queen whom everybody knows:
I am the English Rose;
As light and free as any Jenny Wren,
As dear to Englishmen;

As joyous as a Robin Redbreast’s tune,
I scent the air of June;
My buds are rosy as a baby’s cheek;
I have one word to speak,

One word which is my secret and my song,
’Tis "England, England, England" all day long.