Transitions

The English Bluebell is a herald of that moment between spring being sprung, and summer is a-comin' in. 

Beltane is a bare fortnight away, and the May buds on the Hawthorn are preparing to emerge snow-white. Down in the still woodland, the bluebells carpet the floor. The gentle scent from them counterpoints the wild garlic that runs alongside the burbling stream that runs through the wood.

It's a lovely walk through greening fields and pasture to get to this wood. By the time we get home again, we're pretty much ready for lunch and a goodly Sunday snooze. And having managed the first part of that, I'm off for the second now.