Word from Wormingford
Posted: 17 Mar 2017 @ 00:03
In this archive column from 2006, Ronald Blythe returns to his former haunts in Aldeburgh
ON MONDAY, at about ten past three in the afternoon, the spring began. I was raking the winding paths I had made through the orchard when I felt and heard a resurgence in the landscape, in birdsong, in the air, as well as the meanest suggestion of less bitterness in the weather.
Wild daffodils, still in bud, shook round the apple-tree. The hunt was unseen in the valley, but was whooping away, hounds and horn in full cry — after nothing. A hundred rooks speared north, the sun catching ...
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