The wonder of it

There’s just something about a Bluebell Wood on a sunny morning.
 
Is it the dappled light, the blue haze, the intoxicating scent, the hum of insects, the fluttering of butterflies, the bird song? Is it the fact that in a secret place like this there is no one else around to disturb the hushed quiet? 

Or maybe it is simply the sheer and utter wonder of it. 

Extra - there were forget-me-nots as well.