Hello dears. Do come in and join me with coffee. I haven't a thing sweet to offer to go along but there are biscuits left from breakfast. Would you like one toasted with butter and spread with jam? It does seem more fitting to tea perhaps and we've that, too, if you'd prefer.
I looked out across the fields this morning at all the white blooms and the pale tender green of barely there new leaves. In the long ago old days, when girls wore white dresses it was always pink or blue ribbons tied about their waists. Why not pale green, do you suppose? How lovely that should have looked to see pale green against the white, just like spring.
There's one especially tall white tree on the fence line, swaying gently like a young girl swaying to a quiet strain of music. I know that hidden in that tall white column of a tree are branches with long cruel thorns and the flowers themselves stink to high heaven. But against the pale blue of the sky and the soft warming grey of about to burst into leaf trees behind it, the tree is lovely. And I'll take it's loveliness at face value just now. One can appreciate beauty even if it is merely a disguise. The knowledge that it's only skin deep is key though.
