A time to love; when bluebells bow their heads in prayer in the solemnity of the woodland and crumpled tissues of the white flowering azalea sits softly on the tree – when primroses dot the hedgerows and the cherry blossom falls, and the cuckoo echoes the swallows return.

For is not spring a time to love?

A time to love; when poppies grace the amber crop as red sentinels of quietude and the English Tea rose unfurls her layered skirt – when jasmine releases scent in the evening air and cowslips charm the cooling water’s edge, and butterflies dance to the skylarks song.

For is not summer a time to love?

A time to love; when blackberries sit plump amongst their crown of thorns and rosy apples hang sweetly within the orchards swelling trees – when sycamore seeds twirl to the leaf littered floor and the hawthorn is dotted bright with red, and squirrels scurry to the geese formation

For is not autumn a time to love?

A time to love; when mistletoe is blessed with pearls of dew-drops for Christmas kisses and berries cluster the holly bushes of deepest green – when snowdrops are an innocent white and beech hedges are tarnished with copper, and the redwings flock to the starlings display.

For is not winter a time to love?

For as the seasons are a continuing cycle – so a time to love; is without beginning or end.