Oh, What a Glor-ee-ous Moorning!

In the south of Scotland.

When self burst forth from the heavy iron doors of the Castle, ready to embrace the day with valor and optimism, this is the sight that greeted her eyes!

Oh dear blog readers, one cannot under-estimate the effect of sun on a Scottish garden.  Why everything was positively incandescent!  And birds were warbling pleasantly!  From the depths of the nearby forest!

Anyhoo, tra-la, tra-la, tra-la.  Self has been reading a book by David Masson, M.A., LL.D. (whatever those letters mean) entitled Drummond of Hawthornden:  The Story of His Life and Writings.  On p. 5 (Self has been reading at a snails pace, admittedly:  she’s been here four days and that means she averages about 3/4 of a page a day) she reads this:

A noble old sycamore, just in front of the house, five hundred years old at least, may then arrest your attention, as well as the clipped clumps of yew which you noticed before.  And so, regaining the road by the ascending avenue, you have seen Hawthornden and will remember it forever.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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