Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower—but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.
We’re just back from visiting family in Lincolnshire, and whilst we were there, we had a day trip to the city of Lincoln. We braved the climb up the aptly-named Steep Hill out of the centre, and up the the castle and cathedral.
We were very fortunate to see a peregrine falcon launching itself from the cathedral tower, much to the dismay of the local pigeons. The peregrines apparently nest and breed there regularly, the stone walls and architectural features being not dissimilar to the steep cliffs which are their natural habitat.
No photos, I’m afraid, but we did also come across this rather splendid statue of Alfred Tennyson, who was a Lincolnshire lad. You can just make out the plaque bearing the poem in the main photo, and here’s a close up.