Recycling

Yes, I am about to recycle another post from my old blog. There are two reasons for this. 1) the old blog is going to be taken off line at some point in the next few weeks and this was one of the posts I wanted to save; 2) I’m lazy. I make no excuse for the laziness. Next week, a February round-up that will include books, some very bad potting and decisions. Or possibly not decisions. Undecisions then. Definitely.

In the meantime…look at these lovely photos from my on-top-of-the-world spot…I get very homesick for this place.

Wuthering Walk

“I have just returned from a visit to my landlord – the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society”

“But it was one of their chief amusements to run away to the moors in the morning and remain there all day…”

“The sun shone yellow on its grey head , reminding me of summer; and I cannot say why, but all at once, a gush of child’s sensations flowed into my heart…”

“Gimmerton chapel bells were still ringing; and the full, mellow flow of the beck in the valley came soothingly on the ear. It was a sweet substitute for the yet absent murmur of the summer foliage…At Wuthering Heights it always sounded on quiet days following a great thaw or a season of steady rain.”

“…turning to take a last glance into the valley, whence a light mist mounted and formed a fleecy cloud on the skirts of the blue…’It is not so buried in trees…but you can see the country beautifully all round; and the air is healthier for you – fresher and dryer…”

“…every breath from the hills so full of life, that it seemed whoever respired it, though dying, might revive…”

“…the windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones.”

“…I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, ‘Let me in – let me in!’… As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child’s face looking through the window…”
“…one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few-stunted firs at the end of the house; by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun…”

“…listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth…”

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