Meet Mrs Hickson! This darling little bunny lives with her husband and ever-growing family in a lovely little cottage between the meadows and the woods. She spends her days picking berries and baking cakes and pies, and she loves to take care of all the flowers in her garden and the wisteria growing on her little house. 🐇
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Sometimes, I draw. That is—normally not only sometimes, as of lately not even that.
I am very fond of robins. (And all other birds. And animals. I don’t mean to say that I have a preference for robins. But I like them very, very much.) They are lovely to look at, given much attention in European mythology and culture, and a popular motif in art and literature—as a symbol of Christmas as much as a bringer of Spring, and according to an old story, the reason some trees are evergreens and others lose their leaves in Winter.
I actually have a book about robins near me, Redbreast: The Robin in Life and Literature by Andrew Lack, a biologist (specialised in botany) and son of the ornithologist David Lack. Redbreast is remarkable in particular because it pays equal attention to robin in a scientific as well as a cultural way. I recommend it immensely—plenty of pictures and poems within an abundance of knowledge!
As for my picture, you can buy prints and other nice, printed things on my redbubble shop. Cups, pillows, dresses—the usual. ♥