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Early May is bursting with leaf and flower and song. Walking down through the Penberth Valley there is the continuous sound of the river together with the birds singing through the woodland. On reaching the sea the murmuring of quiet waves accompanies the birds of moorland and rocky shores.

At this time of year the Robin nearest my house becomes very bold, demanding food for his fledglings.

Camellia 'Bob Hope' grows in my garden with a backdrop of the shimmering light and sound of bamboo. Songbirds use the camellia for shelter and its flowers as a source of insects for their young. All this creates a theatre of spring drama from which I have created a textile collage.

Enjoy the opulent iridescence of this gorgeous guy. For anyone offering a dating service, he is a pheasant still looking for his hen.

Cornwall Craft Association's Gallery at Trelowarren is a magnificent space that shows the makers' work to its best. The gallery occupies the whole ground floor of a Georgian stable block in the walled gardens of the lovely Trelowarren estate. Visitors drive through woodland, an Ilex Avenue, and across farmland looking out across the Helford River. Enjoy the journey, and the work of many the finest crafts people of Cornwall.

In the sacred city of Varanasi, also called Banaras, we visited silk weavers and embroiderers creating exquisite fabrics for Indian weddings.

Celebrating the perfect way with lights, music and nibbles on the Narmada River in India.

My youngest aunt traveled to India at the age of two in 1929. She and her mother joined her father, a mining engineer. There followed four years as a child of the British Raj. Returning to England in 1933 she joined her sisters at boarding school and did not see her parents again for several years. This is her account of her life in India as a small child.

In the holy city of Varanasi in India, those goats most favoured by their humans are dressed to protect them from the winter chill.

Leaving my frozen valley I went down to Porthcurno to look at sunlit winter waves. Strewn on the sand and tossed in the foam were roses. Who consigned them to the waves and why I do not know. They were an incongruous but beautiful addition to the afternoon.

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