Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 30

Back in her room, she pushed back the gauzy curtain and opened the window to the night air. All shapes and sizes of chimney pots on the rooftops of Ambleside stood out in black relief against a star-struck sky. Somewhere out there the shade of her father might be still in deep conversation with William Wordsworth.
5AmblesideChimneys.jpg.jpg Read more about Rooftops

It was a garden.

Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 26
It was a garden. Rife with pink and purple foxglove in heart-stopping profusion. Sunny faces of orange and yellow daisies. Blue delicacies of delphinium. Papery petals of white carnations, and tiny red tea roses climbing a half-timbered wall. Sophie sat on a wooden bench in a willow bower, a cool green refuge from the Kandinsky canvas of color that stood between her and the large, thatched house.
6AnneHathawaysGarden.jpg_0.jpg Read more about It was a garden.

Over the hills

Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 25

The [countryside] rolled past her window, a scroll of green meadows which disappeared over one hill and up another, and the deeper green of tree tops rose like shrubbery from the intervening vales. Here and there gabled houses gathered the warmth of the noonday sun into their golden stone walls, adding an aura of comfort to their austere facades.

6WelshCountryside.jpg.jpg Read more about Over the hills

The Spiral Stone

Ghosts of the Heart, Ch. 20:

Late summer flowers bloomed around a stepped pool where the water trickled down a series of stone bowls. At her feet stood a round stone carved with a Celtic spiral design, like the fossil of a gigantic snail. She wanted nothing more than to sit by the pool and bathe in the serenity that permeated the space. But George had been specific. The immediate area surrounding the Well itself. If her mother and Max had come here, that’s where they would be. That’s where they would be safe.

Read more about The Spiral Stone


Ghosts of the Heart, Chapter 17

“Where are you off to tomorrow?”
“Glastonbury. Dad and I often talked of visiting there and climbing the Tor.”
“Straight into the very heart of Story.” There was a smile in his voice. “Be certain to visit the Abbey. Arthur and Guinevere are buried there.”
“King Arthur? He was real?” Tired as she was, Sophie would have pried her eyes open with toothpicks to hear that story from this man’s lips.

Read more about Camelot>