My wonderful home.

I cannot hide my joy at just being alive here in France. Springtime is special of course, wherever you are. It represents something of a forgiveness to me – that the great generous heart of the universe has  once again let me have its warmth. Surely, this is how pagan folk must have felt.

Brave tiny blooms – your beauty is stronger than my self important life

Oh – thank you thank you for your gorgeous push and pulse

I set out into Saint Savinien with my camera to take some pix of the first push of Spring. Oooh – it made me feel quite frisky – and at my age….no risky. God knows how many progeny I would have borne if I’d not lived in Republic Bar of  Urbania.  Springtime in South London was when they changed the revolving lamb kebab lump-a-stuff in the Istanbul Delite Tonite Takeaway window.  Here, the season pushes out its cry of new life. It’s orgasmic and I love it! 

So, all in all it’s romantic novelist and poet goes OTT with vernal lust. Here are a few images:

Reach and reach and reach and reach. I offer only my open shouting beauty. I AM ALIVE.

LOOK AT ME – I AM A MIRACLE

You just cannot beat these simple little blooms. I think of them as cherub kisses planted with a wink. Oh – joy joy joy!

Emma Thinx: Life sometimes shit. You always seed. GROW!