tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71257548306436811822011-04-21T14:51:12.441-07:00P&amp;PDirectorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173240349936430635noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7125754830643681182.post-34156544848083992942009-03-19T19:58:00.000-07:002009-03-19T20:04:26.343-07:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fDwZm5zksk0/ScMHI96QkGI/AAAAAAAAAAM/yycBFuzJrEE/s1600-h/Glen+Eyrie+English+Lane.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315099835866583138" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fDwZm5zksk0/ScMHI96QkGI/AAAAAAAAAAM/yycBFuzJrEE/s320/Glen+Eyrie+English+Lane.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I walked along an English lane today, a mixture of Chawton brick and Statford-Upon-Avon brown and white. The sky was blue and the breeze was soft. And the lane? Well, the lane was not in England at all.</div><div> </div><div>Do you recognise the picture? Perhaps you will, if you've ever visited Glen Eyrie Castle in Colorado Springs. It's the back entrance, really. But I discovered it one misty, wintery day -- and I always return here, to walk for a few moments, and pretend I'm in an English village. </div><div> </div><div>But I suppose there should be thatch.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7125754830643681182-3415654484808399294?l=prideandprejudiceplaymaking.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>P&amp;PDirectorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173240349936430635noreply@blogger.com3