Wandering in a Bluebell Wood

I am looking out of the window at a pastoral scene, cattle grazing in the meadows on a sunny May evening, a clear blue sky with a few puffs of cumulus on the horizon. It has been a delightful and peaceful day. It started off gently; Jess was staying at a friend’s so there was the freedom to wake up a little later and more gently with the morning paper. I probably sound like a grumpy old git but then we have rarely had any helpful grandparents or folks to call on nearby who would take over the babysitting or care of a growing child. So breaks have been rather few and far between over the last sixteen years. Sometimes it is great to awake in near silence, just birdsong or the clunk of post coming through the letterbox.
In the early afternoon we fetched Jess from the bus and then headed on to a local bluebell wood at Blickling. The back lanes are awash with fresh foliage, and the spindly towers and froth of cow parsley growing apace. There is still a definite chill in the air. To see bluebells at their best, and for me they are one of the many highlights of the year, warm sunshine is preferable. But bluebells anytime are a delight for the senses and especially when seen in profusion. They create a wonderful bluepurple haze which hits you, gently, round about the third eye. Not to mention the slightly sweet but tart smell. For a little while the sun came out and , high in the treetops, the birds were singing their hearts out. Bliss.