The most beautiful thing?

Today, you lucky people out there can download the author Fiona Robyn's new book, entitled 'The Most Beautiful Thing.' What a generous gift to give, the tenderness and hope of a long crafted and nurtured piece of writing. I am going to download and read it as a reward when I have finished my writing for today.

Reviews of the book, print editions and free kindle edition today can be found here















So all this talk of beauty made me ponder what my 'most beautiful' thing was.

Eyes.

Yep, people's eyes are my most beautiful thing in the world.

Specifically my babies eyes.

The spark of light in them, the glow, the deep and sincere affection buried inside them.

I never knew before what such a love as you have made me feel was.

I did not believe in it, my fancy was afraid of it, lest it should burn me up.






But if you will fully love me, though there may be some fire,

it will not be more than we can bear when moistened and bedewed with Pleasures.







(John Keats letter to Fanny Brawne, 8 July 1819)

Raise a glass tomorrow...

...and remember Captain Lawrence 'Titus' Oates. It was 100 years ago on 16th March that he walked out of the tent and chose to freeze to death. Did he utter the most heartbreaking and bravest last words ever? Such wonderful understatement. How brave they all were, although Scott seemed to make many foolish descions. Thinking that man-hauling the sledges was somehow more noble than using dogs. Gathering rocks when his men were dying. Yet his journals show how much he fretted and cared about his men. Scott tried and failed; it was the failure that makes the story so unforgettable and moving.

Soft silken embers

It is recovered.
What? Eternity.
In the whirling light
Of the sun in the sea.
O my eternal soul,
Hold fast to desire
In spite of the night
And the day on fire.
You must set yourself free
From the striving of Man
And the applause of the World!
You must fly as you can...
No hope, forever; No _orietur._
Science and patience,
The torment is sure.
The fire within you,
Soft silken embers,
Is our whole duty--
But no one remembers.
It is recovered.
What? Eternity.
In the whirling light
Of the sun in the sea.

Hot cross bun or a big stick

                                                                                       This morning our two chickens dashed out the gate when they had the chance and hid in the hedge. They love the hedgerow and would happily spend all day pecking in there.

However they also like laying their eggs in there and no human can squeeze in to collect the eggs if they do. So my husband and his business partner stopped loading their truck and started to help me get them back in the pen.

I watched as they did this by getting large sticks and banging them on the bin at one end to frighten them one way and poking another big stick in the other part of the hedge to block their way of escape. It was all very loud and exuberant.

I watched with my arms folded, an amused smile on my face as they had no luck in persuading the chickens to go in the right direction.

Then I fetched a hot cross bun, told the men (and the sticks) to back off and crumbled the bun into small pieces and threw it on the floor of the chicken pen calling, 'Here chicky, chicky, chick.' Both chickens dashed out of the hedge in a perky, eager manner and ran to the open gate.

Bun is mightier than the stick.