MARCH 11th 2020

Dearly detested, my eternal enemies, and recent rivals,

I have caved in to peer pressure and created an instagram account. I even drew it for you so you could see it without having to go on the app. You can follow me here if you want, or if you don’t, I suppose that’s fine. Whatever.

Yours wretchedly,
Rochelle Asquith

FEBRUARY 2020

This is what the Frida prints look like…

Now in the dark of February rains,
Poor lovers of the sunshine, spring is born,
The earthy fields are full of hidden corn,
And March’s violets bud along the lanes;

Therefore with joy believe in what remains.
And thou who dost not feel them, do not scorn
Our early songs for winter overworn,
And faith in God’s handwriting on the plains.

‘Hope’ writes he, ‘Love’ in the first violet,
‘Joy,’ even from Heaven, in songs and winds and trees;
And having caught the happy words in these
While Nature labours with the letters yet,
Spring cannot cheat us, though her
hopes
be broken,
Nor leave us, for we know what God hath spoken.

– George MacDonald