My first stop on arrival in England is invariably Hyde Park, and this time was no different. The bare, skeletal trees with their dark, spindly branches suited my mood and the whole nature of the trip...
The skies were steely grey, reflected in the cold water of the silent fountain...
Everything seemed quiet and pensive, forcing reflection on thoughts that offered little warmth or comfort. However, after a while, Life seemed to take the upper hand and the little wonders of nature, however small and discreet, refused to be overlooked.
Tiny, modest buds and delicate blossom were there to be seen, for eyes ready to look onward, and the wild bird song was to be heard, for ears willing to listen...
Already bursting forward were early clusters of snowdrops, in defiance of bleakness, whilst the monument to the departed seemed less a memorial to royal demise than a celebration of this wonderful legacy left to us today, almost 300 years on; Hyde Park.
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