Ranunculus for Holly

Ranunculus, glorious colourful flowers, blooming in the cottage garden of my soul. Shimmering and lustrous in the gentle heat of late Spring sunshine. Filling the air with reminiscent scents and lungfuls of happiness.
Dancing children, chanting in rings of joy, waving daisies, delphiniums and tulips in time to the sweetest breeze. Little Aunties dancing with golden ranunculus. Maypoles replete with beribboned satin streamers, Morris men jingling their bells on a soft Sunday morning.
Cottages thatched with straw haircuts, warm stones on churchyard walls. Honest rain pittering off warm orange pantiles, lush grassy meadows exuberant with woolly sheep. Gently rippling brooks arguing with mossy stones on their way downstream.

England, my England, at your very best, you can compete with the hot and exotic on your own terms.

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