Over the last few weeks bluebells have been gradually
popping up around our local woods. It started with just the odd smattering of
flowers, delicately dispersed amongst the grassy undergrowth but by the time we
returned yesterday from a week away, a rich azure carpet has spread across the
ground, filling any spare nooks and crannies.
Their bowed cerulean heads and verdant emerald leaves now
peep out from behind seasoned oaks and glimmer beside contrasting silver
birches.
Not only are bluebells a beautiful sight, they smell
amazing. Catching a waft of their sweet dewy scent is one of the most uplifting
experiences of spring.
When whiling away a lazy spring morning amongst the
bluebells, I find that the world seems to stand still and the business of
modern life no longer matters. It is like being transported back to an ancient
English woodland at a time when these beautiful elusive flowers were not endangered.
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