Perhaps calmness belies chaos, or at least hides it!
While in Cambridge, surrounded by buildings owing their design to Gothic architecture, a doorway fascinated us. It was an altogether typical doorway, one you might see at any of the entrances to the several colleges of Cambridge.
This particular doorway, which led to Trinity College, seemed calm yet intriguing at every level. A stilled bicycle, an opened door, a distant doorway beckoning visitors to cross the threshold.
And the reality? Not a singular bicycle, but hundreds just inside the doorway. And not a solitary bicycle, but well companied by the dozens of people who passed through this busy pedestrian street. We seized upon that fleeting moment of stillness - and will remember to remind ourselves that we may choose to find peace where we will.
A range of hills in southwest England, the Cotswold Hills, are noted for their uniquely colored stone. We found evidence of the stone’s colorful presence in “Cambray’s Farmhouse,” a home offset beautifully by its proud owner’s cottage garden out front (not to mention the rock garden and pond out back, of which he was equally proud!).
Haddon Hall, considered one of the most romantic English manor homes, is noted for its spectacular roses. The gardener put us in contact with a gentleman who gave us permission to bring our equipment into the gardens. We were given a special tour and access to all the estate grounds. Nestled on the side of a hill above a lazy river, Haddon Hall is the epitome of romance. It’s clearly evident that tremendous care has been taken to maintain the grounds and gardens. Although this is considered a manor home we think of it more as a castle.
There is no great attribute that makes this quaint village stand apart from the next but you can’t help but smile when you see this humble street. You can imagine children playing while their parents take their afternoon siestas, you can see an elderly couple walking hand in hand over the crest of the hill coming home from church, you can see two sweethearts emerging from a shop and the only gift they give each other is a kiss. These images in our minds reflect our golden years, because every age and aspect of life is golden in its own way, just as this village, this street, this gold hill.
Left to its own devices, nature has a way of creating its own scheme of things. Color is no exception; or perhaps it is a good example.
In the Cotswold Hills, the forces of nature seem to have conspired. It seems no accident that a door has weathered to the color of the flowers dancing outside it. That the tile of the cottage roof, the slate of the walk, even the grout between the stones, are imbued with varying tones of the same hue. That the honey-colored stone perfectly complements the violet shades of its surroundings. That the highlights of the climbing vines seem a reflection of the golden rock. Or that we happened upon this scene in the little-visited Snowshill village.