Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,
And drowned every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;

April comes she will. And with it a little sunshine? I continue to hope. For your pleasure: this and this.

photography arranged by this illustrious gentleman for Toast


Ben said...

A Sigur Ros take away show!? Holy Cow! Thanks so much Sophie!

Little My said...

my very great pleasure