Earlier I spoke of dusty bluebells, as a young child I remember being profoundly moved by the singing of a common skipping-song by that name, as it was sung by little girls in the narrow streets of Belfast. I feel like a Proustian pilgrim, my madeleines dipped in tea, tend to be memories of intense musical experiences. I have a small bowl of these lovely wildflowers in front of me as I write. Gerry.
Posted on: Wed, 05 Jun 2013 22:53:47 +0000
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