It's a rare snowy morning in Seattle on the Friday before Christmas. Brings out the traditionalist in me. Makes me want to curl up with a good book ( or )and imagine the building of a medieval cathedral. Like this one, in Salisbury.
Read more about How to Build a Church
This isn't a rock garden. It's a yew hedge at Powis Castle in Wales.
That's Hercules, showing off a bit in the foreground.
It's a very old yew hedge.
Read more about Yew're Kidding!
Welcome back home!
Hopping in the old time machine to a Thanksgiving of yesteryear. Ahhh. Smashed potatoes. Looks like someone helped themselves to a couple or three of the brown 'n' serves. I have no idea why there's a cake. Read more about Feast 2005
I never met a painted ceiling I didn't like. This is the quire at Salisbury.
"Sophie remained on Silbury Hill – the surrounding countryside didn’t look much different, except for the rough track where the highway would one day run – but she had no idea of the year. There was no sign of another living thing anywhere to be seen. Except. Someone held her hand." Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 41
"The bristling banks of heather, whose late summer purple bloom shone wine-dark under the headlights, turned the hills as dark as the sky." Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 38
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Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 35
They walked to the wall and leaned against it. Beyond them stretched the Northumbrian moors. Sophie caressed the ancient stones under her hands, thinking of the work gangs who had placed them there and the Roman soldiers who had paced back and forth on this very hilltop, keeping watch for howling blue-daubed hordes descending out of the north.
Read more about From the Wall