A Morning In May

 

Sometimes it's better to travel than to arrive - and sometimes it's better not to travel at all, but to walk around on your home ground and watch the slow (and sometimes not so slow) changes as they take place right under your nose.

You can proceed as slowly as you like; as slow as the little snail making its steady way up the wet tree trunk after the overnight rain.

Or as slowly as the little chalk stream trickling gently beneath the dripping leaves. But some changes seem to occur more rapidly....

And every year this addled coconut, which I'm pleased to call my brain, is caught off-guard and unprepared for the abruptness of the transformation, though in truth I've always been better at dreaming than remembering and thinking things through.

Yes, we're talking about the sudden green that overtakes the woods and fields every Spring. It seems that 365 days is just the right amount of time for the human mind to forget things; so it's always a surprise when the nights draw out and the flowers start to bloom in the woodlands. 

The little snails take all this in their stride - if you can have such a thing as a stride with only one rudimentary foot - while I have to take photographs to convince myself that Spring is proceeding, even though the weather seems to be firmly stuck in March.

It's just as well that there's a clear path for me to follow!

The horse chestnut trees are bearing their cheery "candles" of blossom. I'd never realised quite how intricate and colourful the blooms were till I looked closely at this photograph.

Cow parsley and buttercups have also sprung into being on the meadows. But, I can tell you because I've seen the rest of these pictures, "you ain't seen nothing yet"!

If you know the village where I live, you'll realise that I'm following a devious, convoluted path around the parish today, not direct and purposeful like the upwardly-mobile snails.

This patch of green grass is only notable because I sat on a log here absorbing the scene and a brief sunny interlude. That often happens - if I stare at something for a while it slowly takes shape as a possible photograph. And hitherto unseen birds pop out from the bushes too, in this case a pair of Whitethroat seemed to be nesting nearby.

And on the way back I passed through another meadow - now that's what I call buttercups.

Take care.