If there is ever a season that calls for restraint, Spring is not it. Beauty in excess explodes at every corner. And suddenly. Spring is not the slowly unfolding summer. The whispered approach of fall. The silent winter. Spring jumps out from behind a barren bush or twiggy tree full blown.
Spring feels like Saturday after a long working week. In the pink.
Many of you have asked for the name of my rose cup. Unfortunately it has no mark. She shall remain anonymous.
I'm so happy you stopped by!
Ciao! for now!
I'm linking up to
at How Sweet the Sound