I was afraid that I was going to miss the spectacle. The link with an event that has taken place, probably for millennia. Those first green shoots and flower spikes that rush to beat the tree canopy that will eventually greedily hog all of the new spring time sunlight.
These last weeks have seen some appalling weather. Sleet, rain, freezing cold temperatures and strong wind. It didn't feel very spring like. I knew that the Bluebells had flowered but I hadn't managed my annual pilgrimage to walk to the middle of them and to stop and smell and listen and bathe in the soft violet shimmery mist that they create in my local bit of English woodland.
I had been feeling in low spirits, but after taking off into the woods this morning with the hound, determined to get my fix, I finally made it. I took my old film camera as well as my phone to look for new ways to make memory aids.
Being in a Bluebell wood is spiritual. I felt at peace with myself and the world. There was no one around me. It made such an impact on me that I printed off this shot from my phone to put into my journal.
I never tire of Bluebells and Bluebell Woods. Despite visiting them for years I always find something new and beautiful to discover and sometimes photograph.
So if you're feeling in need of a pick me up, can I suggest visiting your nearest old woodland and looking out for that soft sky shimmer on the horizon and diving in.
This last image is available as a print from my Picfair store