I’m looking out of my window over a patchwork of fields and Bredon Hill is standing out clearly from the higher Cotswold ridge set behind it. It reminds me of a poem by John Drinkwater who wrote this about a century ago:
‘At Grafton”
God laughed when he made Grafton
That’s under Bredon Hill,
A jewel in a jewelled plain.
The seasons work their will
On golden thatch and crumbling stone,
And every soft-lipped breeze
Makes music for the Grafton men
In comfortable trees.
You guys and girls must stop me if my ramblings about the scenes that surround me are getting too repetitive, but even on a nearly sunless day there are so many uplifting vistas.
It’s currently 8 degrees with a gentle breeze mixed with occasionally stronger blows.