#Brooch flowers are verbena

[cursedclowne]

Little detectives 🕊️✨

[reinvent-and-believe]

48 from dialogue prompts + 50 from wordless i-love-yous for geraskier?

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

--

It catches Geralt’s eye while he haggles over an outrageously priced jar of alchemy paste with a none-too-impressed herbalist on the outskirts of Novigrad, a buxom widow with thick-braided auburn hair by the name of Irmina.

“This for sale too?” He picks up the brooch from the countertop where it rests in a beam of golden light streaming through a dingy window. He examines it. It’s simple enough metalwork, a brass oval with a scalloped edge, but inlaid in its face is a single pressed yellow flower framed by tiny white blooms encased in resin.

The herbalist’s dour demeanour brightens immediately. “It is indeed!” she answers, her brown eyes shining in a plump, suddenly pleasant face. “Made it myself just last week. It’s something of a hobby of mine, making pretty knick-knacks from the flowers we can’t sell. Got plenty more like this if you’d like to peruse ‘em, master witcher! Forget-me-nots and arenaria, hellebore, violets, any flower you might like.”

A buttercup, he realizes belatedly. That’s the yellow flower in the center.

“No.” He sees Irmina’s brow furrow in offense, so he hastens to appease her. “No need, I’ll take this one. I...I’m partial to buttercups.”

Her freckled face breaks into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, aye, I’m sure someone is partial to buttercups.” She winks, waving away his stammered attempts at an answer. “Never you mind, I know a man besotted when I see one, and it seems a witcher’s not so different. Tell you what. Fifty crowns for the paste and I’ll throw the brooch in for only ten.”

-

Leaving the herbalist’s shop with an overpriced paste, a lighter purse, and a useless trinket, Geralt curses himself for a fool.

He’s not sure why he bought it.

He knows buttercups are Jaskier’s favorite, of course. “None but the noblest of flowers for my sobriquet!” Jaskier had squawked indignantly when Geralt once made the grave mistake of referring to the pesky things as weeds after he’d stopped Roach from chomping on a patch of the bright, poisonous blooms.

They are weeds, buttercups. They serve no function. They can’t be used in any of the potions, decoctions, or oils Geralt brews, nor do they have any particularly helpful curative properties for humans.

“As ever, my dear witcher, you have no sense of poetry,” Jaskier had sighed in a most put-upon voice when told as much. “Their function is they’re pretty. Their function is to enrich our lives through the beauty of the natural world.” He’d looked to the sky, tip of his tongue between his teeth showing through his frown as was his custom when puzzling through the right way to turn a phrase. “From a strictly utilitarian perspective, perhaps the buttercup has less value than, say, moleyarrow, or verbena, or chamomile, even. Some plants provide nutritional or medicinal or alchemical qualities of various sorts. But some exist to make life worth living! To transform the banal into the sublime.” He’d plucked a buttercup from the roadside, twirling it between his long fingers. “It’s graceful and balanced, effortlessly beautiful. It’s vibrant, bright like...like sunlight, on a summer afternoon! And when you see it growing alongside the various and sundry flora, it fills you with the loveliest burst of warmth, like a lover’s smile.”

“So...it’s a pretty weed.”

“You’re incorrigible, witcher, that’s what you are.” Jaskier had huffed dramatically before tucking the buttercup behind Geralt’s ear, his face alight with a delighted grin.

Like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

-

The Kingfisher Inn is crowded when Geralt arrives. He goes to the bar, orders an ale from Olivier, and leans against the counter to take a look at the stage.

Jaskier loves playing the Kingfisher. In many of the inns he plays across the Continent, he’s relegated to a corner to try to sing over the clang of dinner, his only option to win the common folk over a raucous drinking song or a filthy ditty. And while the bard doesn’t shy away from such vulgarities, the patrons of the Kingfisher tend to be of a more artistically inclined ilk, responding with appropriate gusto to the virtuosic art songs that he rarely performs outside of competitions or Oxenfurt.

Or so he’d explained to Geralt when he’d suggested they meet up at the inn.

Jaskier sits atop a tall stool on a rather large stage framed by crimson curtains, his sky-blue doublet a vivid contrast. The audience, enraptured, listens to his ballad, a melancholy tale of a fair maiden who’s violently killed before she can profess her love to a farmhand in her village, a beautiful, strong, kind man whose hair shines like a blaze of pale fire in the sunlight. Her love for him tethers her to this world, and her spirit—bitter, weary, and endlessly yearning—calls the men working in the fields to join her dance at midday, when the sun is in its zenith, hoping against hope for the chance to finally confess to her beloved.

In the end, the brave, noble farmhand sacrifices himself, hoping to stop the spirit’s killings by listening to her song and joining her as she beckons. And as they are reunited, as she finally kisses the lips she’s longed for in a blinding blaze of sunlight, they pass on together, their spirits becoming one.

It’s a contract Geralt worked a few years ago, a noonwraith outside Oreton—or at least something close. As ever, Jaskier has taken artistic liberties, romanticized the actual events (“Sometimes, in our pursuit of Truth, we must sacrifice the facts,” Jaskier loftily explained on more than one occasion. He seemed quite taken with the profundity he seemed to find in the statement. Geralt called it pretentious once and Jaskier hurled a chunk of bread at his head). Once it might have bothered Geralt, but he’s grown accustomed to Jaskier’s rather malleable relationship with veracity in his ballads. There’s no denying the impact of his storytelling: when Geralt glances around the inn, he sees several patrons discreetly dabbing at their eyes.

It’d been an ugly case, leaving him feeling empty, drained. Noonwraiths haunt his thoughts far longer than most the monsters he dispatches. They’re victims of circumstance more than anything, young women who’ve been transformed into bloodthirsty, violent spirits through no fault of their own, through the violence inflicted upon them. Nearly forty men had fallen prey to her before the farmhand distracted her with his kiss—though Geralt would hesitate to classify his grotesque, gruesome sacrifice as such—so the witcher had a chance to strike her down with silver. Jaskier has spun the miserable tale into something beautiful, moving, something that clearly resonates with his captivated audience, that speaks to a greater force at work than the chaotic, banal evils the witcher sees every day, and Geralt thinks he understands, for a moment, what the bard had told him of Truth and facts.

(Geralt doesn’t know what greater Truth is served by changing the beloved farmhand’s hair from the dull brown it really was to “a blaze of pale fire,” but then, Geralt’s not a poet.)

The final notes hang in the air, all eyes fixed on Jaskier for a rapt, breathless moment before the room bursts into wild applause. Jaskier stands and bows deeply, once, twice, a third time, surveying the room as he offers his thanks. When his gaze catches Geralt at the bar, his expression of showman’s grace vanishes, a flash of something that looks almost alarmed for a split second before it’s replaced by a small, gentle smile.

Geralt nods and raises his mug toward the stage in cheers, draining the remainder. Jaskier is quickly swept into the swarm of captivated fans, accepting their praises with a gracious, if distracted, smile.

The witcher turns back to the barkeep to order himself another ale along with a glass of wine.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swerves to avoid a near-collision with a frenzied barmaid on his way to join his companion at the bar. He grabs the wine glass with a groan of appreciation, taking a swig before asking, “Is this for me? Gods, but you’re a marvel, darling, I thank you.” He takes another sip and sends a disarming, roguish wink to a pair of girls staring at him and giggling to each other. “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose, they only had one room to let when I checked in and it hasn’t cleared out since. You’ll share mine, of course, but I’ve been here a week so, you know, best brace yourself, I’ve quite made the place my own.”

Geralt snorts. He’s stayed in enough rooms that Jaskier has made his own over the past decade to predict with some certainty what mess he’ll soon venture into.

(Doublets draped over furniture after they’ve been discarded; crumpled sheets of paper tossed near, never in the fireplace; a few near-empty bottles of wine; a shirt hung to dry over the modesty screen between the sleeping and bathing areas; bottles of a dozen oils and perfumes and soaps scattered haphazard near the tub; an unmade bed that may well contain an abandoned undergarment or forgotten stocking left by some well-satisfied guest.)

“Have you eaten? Shall we? I’m starved, felt jittery all afternoon and didn’t eat a damned thing which was all well and good until I got onstage and suddenly wished for a fainting couch. Or we could take your things up to the room first, of course. Oh! We could have them bring our dinner up to us, it’s awfully crowded down here tonight and I’m not sure I’m up to socializing all evening, to be honest, I’ve been dreadfully out of sorts, did you notice, Geralt, that I’ve…”

Jaskier continues his ramblings, and the witcher can’t help a twinge of worry for his friend. It’s not unheard of for Jaskier to be in a heightened state over a particularly important performance, but usually afterwards the nerves dissipate and he seems more himself. Not to mention, why would playing in an inn prompt such anxieties? Even if the Kingfisher clientele trends toward the more refined than the country folk he often plays for, it’s still rather a low-stakes environment to trigger such stress.

“New song?” he asks casually. Jaskier always beams when he notices such things, when he makes an effort to ask about his music.

Instead, Jaskier blushes, looking away with an expression that almost seems guilty. “Ah, yes, well, I wasn’t certain when you’d be arriving, of course, I thought I might try out something different, a sort of test audience, as it were, to feel out the piece before I use it for anything important.” The look he’s fixed on Geralt seems almost wary. “Did you...like the song?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not quite how it happened,” he grumbles, out of habit more than anything.

A smile, genuine and rueful, breaks out on Jaskier’s face. “Gods, I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, shaking his head and looking away quickly.

“Hmm.” He reaches quickly into the coin pouch at his side, thrusting the trinket from the herbalist into Jaskier’s hand with a brusque, “Here.”

“Whatever have we got…” He cuts off as opens his palm. “Oh.”

There have been so few times over the years that Geralt has seen Jaskier speechless that he begins to worry he’s offended him. He turns the brooch over in his hands, once, twice, his thumb swiping gently over its smooth enamel face. He doesn’t look up.

Even in the crowded room, Geralt can smell the shift in his demeanor, the muted sickly-sweet anxious smell becoming something sharp, metallic, pained, like he’s been stabbed. “You’re upset.”

“I...no.” Jaskier shoves the brooch into his trouser pocket, a tense smile on his face, not at all reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt, it’s lovely. Shall we take your bags to the room now?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it to upset you.”

Jaskier laughs, a broken thing, and Geralt grows even more alarmed. “You didn’t, it isn’t that, sometimes I want things I can’t have is all.” He grabs the saddlebag sitting at Geralt’s feet, not meeting his eyes as he rushes past him up the stairs to the last bedroom in the hall.

Geralt follows after a moment, giving his companion a respectful distance. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a knot in his gut that only grows as he watches Jaskier’s hand tremble on the key as he unlocks the door.

It was a stupid idea. He knew it was stupid when he bought it, yet he bought it anyway, somehow ruined everything anyway.

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is filled with a forced cheer as he sets the bag down, hand never leaving the doorknob. “I’ll go fetch us some supper. Or, actually, you know, now that I think of it, I’ve a few errands to run before it gets too late, meant to do it earlier but you know how it goes, lost track of time…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt moves toward him but stops himself, helpless. “Please. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Jaskier stands in the doorway for another moment. He takes a deep breath, closes the door, and walks slowly to the writing desk in the corner. He pulls the chair out, moving the doublet strewn across it before sitting. He doesn’t look at Geralt.

“You didn’t.” Every word is calculated, deliberate. “What kind of ungrateful wretch gets upset over...over an exceptionally thoughtful gift from a friend after a time apart?”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers locking together as he stares at the floor. “You’re not a wretch. The fault is mine.”

“Dammit, Geralt, there isn’t fault, I only—why did you bring me a gift?”

Geralt frowns. “I’ve bought you things before,” he says slowly.

“Things, yes!” Jaskier vaults from the chair, pacing listlessly about the room, no longer trying to mask his inexplicable distress. “Lute strings when I broke a string and I was low on coin. The lute is my livelihood, it made financial sense for you to replace the string so I could pull my own weight, help you when we pass through several towns in a row with no contracts. Boots when you noticed the hole in the heel of my old pair, because I slow you down limping about in footwear that’s falling apart. Room and board, sometimes, because you know I’m good for it, I’ll cover you the next time.” He’s stopped pacing, stares silent into the fireplace.

“Wasn’t keeping a tab.” Geralt’s voice is quiet. “You needed strings and boots and food and a room.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn to face him, but Geralt sees his hand slip into his pocket, pull out the brooch. His head bends, studying it.

He’s not offended or annoyed or angered by the gift. He’s hurt. But why?

Except...

Jaskier looked guilty when Geralt brought up the song. Like he’d been caught red-handed. Did you like it? he’d asked. Incredulous.

The noonwraith singing her song in hopes that her beloved hears her confession. That he’ll hear her song of longing and come to her.

Hair like a blaze of pale fire, not dull brown.

Sometimes I want things I can’t have.

“Geralt?”

The witcher snaps back to attention, eyes fixed on Jaskier, finally facing him.

“Why did you get it for me, Geralt?”

Geralt frowns. “It’s...pretty,” he starts lamely. “I thought you might wear it when you play. You wear gaudy things.”

Jaskier snorts, a small, crooked grin on his lips.

“It made me think of you,” he confesses quietly, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the floor. “Sometimes...things don’t have to have a function. It was a buttercup and it was pretty and it…made me think of you.”

When Geralt dares to raise his eyes, Jaskier’s staring at him, brows drawn together and mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he walks toward the witcher, sitting carefully beside him on the bed. He reaches his hand towards Geralt’s and presses the little brooch into his palm.

“Will you pin it on me?” he asks softly.

Geralt nods.

His fingers feel thick and clumsy as he fumbles with the delicate clasp. The top few buttons of Jaskier’s doublet, as ever, are undone, but it closes neatly just beneath his exposed neck. Geralt slips a finger beneath the satin fabric to pull it away from his throat, cautiously piercing the fabric with the thin pin and sliding it into its slot, locking the clasp with shaking hands.

His hand doesn’t move from Jaskier’s chest. A sword-calloused thumb, seemingly of its own volition, grazes lightly over the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Geralt.”

He looks up, almost pulls away but for the flushed cheeks, the tongue that darts out to wet pink lips, the hooded eyes beneath dark lashes fixed on Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier’s breath is warm against his face. When did they draw so close?

“Are you going to kiss me, Geralt?” The breathy whisper is laced with wonder.

And he didn’t...didn’t buy the brooch to entice Jaskier into anything, didn’t mean to solicit any sort of reward, and he opens his mouth to tell him so, yet as his rough hand moves to gently cup the back of Jaskier’s neck the words that tumble out instead are, “I’d like to.”

And Jaskier throws back his head and laughs, a euphoric, intoxicated sound, as his lovely hands cradle Geralt’s face. He brings his forehead to rest against Geralt’s as they still, breathing each other for a moment before Jaskier surges forward to capture his lips.

His kiss tastes like sunlight.

[fromringtoveil]

#174 - The Royal Wedding Review

The Royal Wedding Review - Episode #174

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The Royal Wedding is over and we have some things to say about it. The Dress, the floral, and more!

Rules for dress, flowers, etc.

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Tiara

Borrowed from the queen, belonged to Queen Mary Diamond Bandeau Tiara. Made in 1932, tiara has, in the past, been spotted with a sapphire in the center. Meghan’s tiara, which topped her veil that paid tribute to all 53 countries in the Commonwealth through its flowers, featured a center brooch of 10 diamonds dating back to 1893

Dress

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Hats

While hats are traditional, they're not technically required

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Floral

Bouquet-myrtle-tradition, lily of valley-for sweetness and happiness, forget me nots-Diana's favorite flower, Astilbe - for patience and dedication, Astrantia - strengh, courage and protection

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Queen

Colors Lime Punch

Reception Dress

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Getaway Car

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How did they honor Princess Diana

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Wedding Photos

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Cost

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Cake and Reception

-Each table was named for a food that is said differently in America and the U.K. "Potato, potato, tomato, tomato, oregano, oregano," she said. "It was so sweet. There were so many nods to the beautiful mashup of two cultures."

-According to one partygoer, florist Willow Crossley was personally asked by the couple to create bespoke flower arrangements for the evening reception. “The flowers were divine,” said the source. “They were Meghan’s favorites and artfully arranged in glass jam jars and vintage jugs. They made the marquee look stunning.”

-Prince Harry's father, who walked the bride down the aisle, hosted the evening party at the estate at Frogmore House. That's the same residence where Meghan and Harry took their engagement photos .

-Idris Elba reportedly served as DJ

-Photographs showed Markle wearing to the evening reception a large, emerald-cut aquamarine ring that Diana wore often before she died in a Paris car crash in 1997.

-1960s R&B to the dance hits of the 1980s.

-Family friend Sir Elton John performed three songs at the request of Prince Harry. "It was a very, very touching reception,"

-Foods served at the receptions

Scottish langoustines wrapped in smoked salmon with citrus crème Fraiche

Grilled English asparagus wrapped in Cumbrian ham

Garden pea pannacotta with quail eggs and lemon verbena

Heritage tomato and basil tartare with balsamic pearls

Poached free-range chicken bound in a lightly spiced yogurt with roasted apricot

Croquette of confit Windsor lamb, roasted vegetables and shallot jam

Warm asparagus spears with mozzarella and sun-blush tomatoes

Champagne and pistachio macarons

Orange crème brûlée tartlets

Miniature rhubarb crumble tartlets

Fricassee of free-range chicken with morel mushrooms and young leeks

Pea and mint risotto with pea shoots, truffle oil and Parmesan Crisps

Ten-hour slow-roasted Windsor pork belly with apple compote and crackling

-Wedding cake, designed by Claire Ptak. The cake features elderflower syrup made at the Queen’s residence in Sandringham, as well as a light sponge cake, Amalfi lemon curd filling and elderflower buttercream

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It’s Your Wedding Day

What You Ought To Do To Buy Your Dream Wedding

Giving gifts in your bridesmaids and groomsmen is actually a nice means of saying be grateful for being there for you on the big day. You could be wondering just what a good gift would be. This post will offer you some suggestions for picking out the perfect thanks a lot gifts for the bridal party.

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Leading approximately the wedding, it is advisable to find a top makeup artist to do your makeup, which can maximize your appearance. This is very essential as you will want to be as glowing as you possibly can and hide any imperfections so that you can be flawless as soon as your big day comes.

When considering wedding jewelry, consider borrowing your jewelry as an alternative to buying it. Your friends and relatives could possibly have great jewelry pieces that they can be prepared to help you to use cost-free. When you use someones jewelry instead of buying new, the jewelry may also hold sentimental value.

Pick food for your wedding which you enjoy. Don’t be concerned about what your invited guests think, it’s the day to savor! The one thing you should think of, is if you were a vegetarian, then you should give you a few meat options to your invited guests and never force a tofurken about them.

In choosing flowers to your wedding, consider the meaning behind the flower that you are choosing.For instance, daisies represent weddings innocence while orchids symbolize love. Make sure to select a flower that includes a which means that fits you. Try learning what most flowers mean to be able to properly choose meaningful flowers for your personal big day.

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Will not let family and friends inform you the way your wedding should or shouldn’t be. Many times, those who are marrying each other let their family influence their decisions and they also turn out unhappy with the way their wedding event proved. Should you require assistance with the wedding, work with a wedding planner.

Weddings

Most weddings are planned to fall in the weekend. Should you be looking to spend less, consider owning your wedding in the week. Venues and hotels have higher prices through the weekend since that is when most people want those ideas. Switching to some weekday will save you a respectable amount of capital.

When getting quotes from vendors for the wedding, avoid mentioning that you are currently planning a wedding should you don’t need to. Some vendors mark up the buying price of services for weddings, so you may pay more ultimately than you would for any similarly sized event using the same needs.

As opposed to heavy room fragrances, candles, and oil diffusers, you can carefully select flowers and herbs to make a natural, earthy aroma for the venue. Citrus-esque scents, including those of mimosas, lemon verbena, and waxflower, are perfect for daytime weddings that are locked in summery locations or tropical oceanfront settings.

Select a venue that may be willing to use your schedule. Sometimes, the room rent will likely be completely waived through the facility if you utilize some their catering and concession services. This may be a good way to spend less on renting a venue, especially since weddings are incredibly expensive.

A good thing for the bride to keep in mind when it comes to weddings is always to take pictures of yourself while trying out different makeup and hair styles. This will likely ensure you usually do not pass high on an incredible combination while checking out different techniques for your wedding event.

Mentioned previously at the outset of this content, giving gifts for your bridal party can be a nice gesture of thanks and appreciation. With everyone’s tastes being so different, it may be hard to choose those “perfect” gifts. Hopefully this information has given you some terrific present ideas for saying “thanks a lot” in your bridal party

from Cheri Lee Hudsonvalleysmokehouse http://hudsonvalleysmokehouse.com/its-your-wedding-day/

[sensitivefern]

BALTIMORE, NOVEMBER 15, 1948. ...his liver had bulged down to the level of his bladder... his blood count was alarmingly low, and that he seemed to be fast breaking up... His disease is simply arrested. In order to keep going he must avoid alcohol altogether. Patterson has managed to do this so far, but I am wondering whether he will hold out... Certainly he misses his Scotch very sorely. Nevertheless, he has stood up to the drill with great courage, and his apparent recovery is largely due to his own resolution. His mind is now perceptibly clearer than it was, and he doesn’t look so ghastly... He is still, of course, a sick man...

This was the last entry that H.L. Mencken made in his diary. Eight days later, on November 23, the thing that he had feared for so long happened – he was stricken by a massive cerebral thrombosis... the stroke permanently damaged certain brain areas and left him without the ability to read or write. No further literary work was possible. He lived for another seven years, cared for by his devoted brother August, and died in his sleep at Hollins Street during the night of January 29, 1956.

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ORRIS: Orris root is obtained from three species of iris (Iris florentina, I. pallida, and I. germanica), perennials native to southern Europe and cultivated chiefly in Italy for their fragrant rootstocks... roots grown in rather dry, gravelly soil appear to be the most fragrant.

Orris is readily propagated by division of the old plants, which may be set either in spring or fall about a foot apart in rows spaced conveniently for cultivation. It requires three years to produce a marketable crop of roots... they are [then] peeled and dried in the open air. The desired fragrance does not develop until after the dry roots have been stored for a long time, during which they are especially liable to the attacks of insects... Orris grows best in full sun, is often used in borders.

The royal fern (Osmunda regalis), likes sunlight and will thrive in very wet places, like bogs, meadows, or the edges of a brook or lake, if its crowns are above the high water line...

Both the *cinnamon** and the interrupted fern form large, fibrous root masses, often several feet square, above the ground. Called osmunda fiber or osmundine, this material is used to pot up orchids. Very rich, it will feed an orchid for up to five years. It is also extremely tough, and must be cut with a saw.

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shrub verbena | Lantana camara Beware the whiteflies and spider mites... give it absolute warmth... may be propagated by seed ‘for fun’... ‘If you like the smell of marigolds, you’ll love the sharp, strongly scented foliage of L. camara and montevidensis as well as appreciate how quickly they take on the filler role in container gardening’... the flowers of camara remind ‘me’ of ‘brooches or millefiori paperweights’... both species are butterfly magnets... lantana is a contemptible weed in the tropics... they can take the heats bravely, but don’t skimp on the water...

lion’s ear | Leonotis ‘And now for something different. I’ve found a plant that blooms during the mum season, produces flowers in autumnal orange, grows well in containers, and doesn’t fall prey to a wide variety of maladies’.. when in bloom, Leo resembles ‘a skyrocket in multiple-explosion flight, a green arm wearing several orange cuff bracelets, or a troupe of orange-winged acrobats standing on each other’s shoulders’... are best started from cuttings and pinched regularly... Ol’ Leo is a phosphorus hog, and demands much water, also...

[Encyclopedia of Container Plants]

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Feb 12 [1854]. PM – Skate to Pantry Brook. Put on skates at mouth of Swamp Bridge Brook. The ice appears to be nearly two inches thick. There are many rough places where the crystals are very coarse... [...] Landed at Fair Haven Hill. I was not aware till I came out how pleasant a day it was. It was very cold this morning, and I have been putting on wood in vain to warm my chamber, and lo! I come forth, and am surprised to find it warm and pleasant. There is very little wind, here under Fair Haven especially. I begin to dream of summer even. I take off my mittens. [...] This is a glorious winter afternoon. The clearness of a winter day is not impaired, while the air is still and you feel a direct heat from the sun. It is not like the relenting a thaw with a southerly wind. There is a bright sheen from the snow, and the ice booms a little from time to time. On those parts of the hill which are bare, I see the radical leaves of the buttercup, mouse-ear, and the thistle.

Especially do gray rocks or cliffs with a southwest exposure attract us now, where there is warmth and dryness. The gray color is nowhere else so agreeable to us as in these rocks in the sun at this season, where I hear the trickling of water under great ice organ-pipes.

[Thoreau, Journal]

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❚Roberta Peters, the Bronx-born coloratura soprano who at 20 was catapulted to stardom by a phone call, a subway ride and a Metropolitan Opera debut — her first public performance anywhere — all in the space of five hours, died on Wednesday at her home in Rye, N.Y. She was 86. Ms. Peters, who would sing with the Met 515 times over 35 vigorous years, was internationally renowned for her high, silvery voice (in private, she could hit a high A, two and a half octaves above middle C); her clarion diction in a flurry of languages; her attractive stage presence; and, by virtue of the fact that she and television came to prominence at about the same time, her wide popular appeal.

How Guardian readers are coping with the courgette crisis A courgette crisis has brought parts of the UK to its knees – or at least, caused some minor inconvenience. So naturally we asked Guardian readers to document their own struggles hunting down the elusive squash. There are courgettes in Yorkshire.

Having absolutely NO other stories to report on, the BBC tackles the tough issues such as: "Why do we put 'The' in front of the country Gambia when talking about it?"