COWS AND BUTTERCUPS

Sweet! I bet you were an adorable little boy. ~A

Ann of Norway Lovely, lovely thoughts, the perfumes and the thrills of the wind in her skirts billowing love and warmth towards you, your hand held tight, as you peered down at the coal mines and their slightly frightening dark colour, then being carried safely, in strong arms, home to tell the others that you had seen the golden yellow of buttercups reflecting the sun on their shiny petals, and seen the comfortable cows chewing the cud, and lowing in their gentle voices among the swaying grasses. What a most sensed pastoral scene you evoke, one we all have sensed as poets, one we hold, perhaps the dearest memory in nature, with someone who loves us, protects us and guides us, and who enthuses with the innocence of a child, at the beauty of this world, no theories or illusions veiling or exaggerating its impact on the psyche. Yes lovely carrissimmo Longobardolino mio. Annuccia

Ann of Norway Not one of the nicest jobs when the sun shines on the buttercups and meadows, to go deep down under the earth and dig out coal, blood sweat and tears, tears from all the soot. But then there could be fossils in the coal seams and they can have been fascinating. I remember the town of Rochdale and others in Yorkshire, row upon row of miners semi-detached houses, grey stone, gritted from the atmosphere with so much coal about, they were depressing; no wonder there was joy when they were free from work, washed and sitting in their cosy homes contemplating outings in the meadows above, little heavens of natures expression to console them for their labours. Lucky are we who didn't have to work the mines, we undermine our lives in other ways we humans always looking at the grass on the other side of the fence! We live a life of luxury compared with the miners of those times, and we salute them for their industry. Lets have a glass of wine and toast them shall we, to those who laboured in the dark dank terrifyingly dangerous mines. Saluti! Annuccia