About the woodlands I will go To see the (bluebells)
Only I couldn't. This morning I'd done a few essential things, I was in the car and I thought, 'Hang spring cleaning' and decided to go to a secret location wot I wot of to see the sheets of bluebells under the trees. I tramped round the edges of several fields, soaking the hems of my trousers, then when I reached the magical spot I found it was all fenced off with barbed wire. So I had to gaze through it at the beautiful cool blue depths beyond and the tempting little path through the middle, just like Alice trapped behind the door into the garden. How I hate the National Trust! How glad I am that we resigned our membership a few years ago when we disagreed with some batty policy decision. The bluebell walk must now be filed away under 'past pleasures'.
My little jaunt was far from wasted, though. The sun shone warmly and I was completely alone. I didn't see a living creature apart from lots of bunnies and a few cows in the distance. The only sound was birdsong. The hedges were full of Cow Parsley, Red Campion (a misnomer, since it is pink, and I was sorry not to see a white one for Margery Allingham's sake), primroses, violets and Sweet Woodruff. The pasture was yellow with dandelions. Truly, time out.
Afterthought. I was scanning this picture for a quite different purpose and thought it was appropriate. If I had got into the wood, I don't expect I would have found a baby.