Brown bunches of seeds on the lime tree, opposite our house, hang among the leaves which for the most part remain green.
I have a habit, probably a bad one, of spotting words buried in other words, and possibly even attaching significance to them. Something tells me that it is a sign of limited intelligence or schizophrenia or worse. This morning I wake up thinking of Verlaine. Would a French person, I wonder, consciously note, that the poet's name is made up of two other words - ver meaning worm, and laine, meaning wool ? Do we think for more than a moment about the composition of the name Wordsworth?
The pleasure of anticipating a holiday.