This is wonderful, and fascinating with the unexpected symbols, which I like because they invite us to explore a wider sense of her. The simplicity of the art has eloquence, as well. Thank you so much for the trouble. I’ve saved it and will return often!

Please no worries at all, don’t take extra trouble. My eye always goes to images of her, but this Goddess is nearer than breath whether seen or not! It’s completely fine.

Protectors, truly! Do you have a close up of your Brigit? I would love to see her better.

Thank you so much for sharing this. They are words to carry the heart in these times.

I’m so glad to hear it. Your garden must be singing!

Missy, I always smile when I see you. It’s one of your super powers. 🥰

Every day when I open the cupboard and reach for the tin of tea my hand goes into the web I took down the day before, the unseen weaver busy again overnight. Today finally rehomed the tin to the counter! So many posts yesterday about buckets of rain in Britain, at last. Did you get it also?

for every immigrant tethers two worlds together with embroidered garlands of words, of sweets, of flowers, of children, of dreams, turning strangers into friends and planting seeds of incalculable good.

And in their minds, Madeira became not just a distant island of flowers, floating untethered in the blue Atlantic swell, but an island of friendship, of beauty and interest –

became affectionately know as "Madeiring" in honour of the Stoat, who was often seen staggering under the weight of his flowers at births and funerals and marriages and dinner parties, and at the first delicate hints of love in the Maying Dorset land.

When he moved to England and opened his little shop in Dorchester, he determined to impart the profound love and pride of the Madeirenses for their flora to his new neighbours, preparing such extravagant bouquets that any particularly successful attempts at floral arrangement in Old Fox's village

carefree frogs singing in the valleys, and levadas, water channels like serpents twisting through the wild fuchsias and the starry myriads of blue and violet agapanto.
So many, many flowers, a bounty which had marked his very stoatish soul and guided his path to floristry.

– a time of green mountains wreathed in salt-grey clouds, ancient forests of pines and eucalyptus, dense ferned cauldrons scattered with dusty golden light, the hot, dry eastern wind known as the Leste, bright red and yellow tins of sugar cane honey cakes,

Whimsy, engaging characters, country tales, imagination, historical sensitivity, deep humanity, finely honed writing—-and yes, wonderful recipes. Do join Anne’s Patreon. It is both thought-provoking and a source of great pleasure.