I am stealing a segment and the title from D. H. Lawrence’s poem. You know, for all his notoriety for Lady Chatterley’s Lover, Sons and Lovers and Women In Love, I always thought he wrote most passionately about nature. He wrote as though he wanted to strip and roll around naked in the grass and describe all the pokes and prickles, the fresh scents and the soft springiness.

And the ghostly, creamy coloured little tree of leaves
white, ivory white among the rambling greens
how evanescent, variegated elder, she hesitates on the green grass
as if, in another moment, she would disappear
with all her grace of foam!

This was shot at Emerald Green where little surprises like this lovely garden are hidden around every corner.
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