Quaint or what?

The hills are beautiful at this time of the year; the verdant meadows tranquil but for the racket of bumblebees frenziedly rogering the butterflies among the dandelions and the Great God Pan making lewd suggestions to the wood nymphs; whinbushes golden and so lush with spines that if you threw in a herbalist she would squeal for weeks; snow white lily-of-the-valley coating the glensides like talcum powder down the natal cleft of a big fat …