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Written by John McCullagh
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Thursday, 17 June 2004 |
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June switches back our thoughts to childhood days – that joyous period of our lives when everything is idealised and appears to us now as grown-ups a fairyland tinged with a roseate hue. It recalls balmy breezes with the scent of greening grasses and wild flowers and herbs. The gardens are resplendent with roses – crimson and white, golden and pale pink, while the hedgerows flaunt the hawthorn blossom which covers the branches with a gown of glorious white delicately tipped with pink and making the air fragrant with perfume. In June the countryside re-echoes with the bleating of lambs, answered with the ba-aing of their soft-voiced mothers; the birds sing from dawn to dusk. God’s sunshine on land and sea – every good gift given to us to increase our happiness. June brings from the dim past a perfect day, when sitting in the shade of a sycamore tree, I heard the sweet song of the lark, soaring aloft, filling the heavens with his wonderful melody. How eagerly I have watched his flight into the azure blue and then his descent into the luscious meadow. What hours I filled trying to locate the spot where he was hidden so that I might be the proud possessor of a lark’s nest.
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Reminiscence 
