Thursday


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

2 comments:

Ben said...

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

Little My said...

my very great pleasure