A river running, the slick of a horse’s rump, a painting of flowers, Keats, friendships, the flight of a lark and a brown paper parcel tied up with string- all primeval and real sources of joy. And they say “this is me, this is home.

A fulsome, seasonal tableau. Gathering, turning and swaying from Spring’s rise through Autumn’s rich decline. A gentle revelry of the living and the still.