In the meadow of my house there stands a rocky outcrop of stones, piled one on top of another so as to create a hillock where the grass has grown over all. I love to go there. I sit on the highest point of the highest stone to look over the valley, and to listen to the sounds of the wind in the pine tree to the left of the hillock. Sometimes I would go there to talk to the wind, and to any faeries that might be about.
Come summer, the place is swaying in a sea of foxgloves.
Saturday, July 15, 1876
FOXGLOVES AND FAIRIES
by James Britten, in The Gardeners' Chronicle