In April, the Priory blackthorn is a joy.
It lights up a corner of the meadow,
and whilst I might curse Prunus spinosa for most of the year, I certainly don’t in spring.
Why do I curse it? Because it stabs me, that’s why. The thorns scratch my arms, stab my fingers and if tiny, difficult-to-get-out bits snap off in my flesh (which they do) they quickly turn septic. Spiky, spiteful sloe.
But now, in spring, in Sussex, they are simply, magnificently glorious.
A weekend walk on the South Downs was amply rewarded by blackthorn’s snowy spectacle.
And by tea and cake, of course.
Is the blackthorn show better than in recent years? I’d say so but what do you think?
oooOOOooo
And on that brief note, I’m off! I’m running away to the seaside for a few days. I shall paddle in the sea, eat stupid amounts of ice cream, roll about on sandy beaches for no good reason and walk the 40 mile Norfolk Coast Path. I’ll be back soon but thought it rude not to say goodbye.
And so – Goodbye. Back soon.
