On the bus coming back from Hereford this morning I looked out across the steep green fields and noticed that the white hawthron blosson is nearly at an end. But there are elder flowers, creamy and scented, in all the hedgerows, wild open-faced roses scrambling over stone walls and honeysuckle in hieratic yellow and scarlet in the cottage gardens. Blackbirds presumptuous as ever, watching quizzically as I pause in my walks down by the river or through meadows.
And of course it was fine, we knew immediately that we would be together and enjoy one another.
Another promise coming true as AA members would say. Love and the mystery of intuition.
