The promise of apples...

Come, bee, and nestle into me
My nectar's here for you to loot.
Disturb my pollen wantonly
The more you drink, the more I'll fruit.

Lovely wander through a few of the 700 acres of Lower Woods this morning. The lesson for today is that real woodland has an assumption you are no taller than about two or three feet, and if you fail to meet that restriction you'll surely meet a bough or two. The floor beneath the oak, beech and thick hazel coppices was laid over to bluebells, and celandine, and marsh orchids, and garlic, and a thousand other goring things. The clay mud sucked at our foots despite the recent dry spell (about to break). 

And yet the thing that drew me today was how the fruit trees in the gardens had come into blossom while we were in Devon. This one is an eater (not sure which one) in the back garden. The chickens are taking a delight in eating the low hanging blossom on the Bramley cooker in the run.

And now, Guinness in the back garden. Tough life, eh.