Bluebell Dell

Golly, it's certainly been an aeon between posts. Sadly London life does not inspire the same as the Far East, and thus my output has dwindled greatly in the bloggery department. Things are set to change this summer however, if things turn out right.

A nostalgic past-time that I rediscovered here in grey wet England is that of strolling through bluebell woods in late April or early May. Almost an inverse of Japanese hanami, here when at their most splendid, the bluebells carpet the ground so that all that can be seen in the pooled shadows of trees is the purple-tinged lilac haze of nodding bluebell flowers. Under cherry blossoms in Japan, people picnic and admire the boughs above, but here in English woods one cannot picnic for fear of squashing 'em (and the ground is likely to be wet from torrential rains), so one instead strolls and observes on foot.

Sir S and I spent an afternoon in Bluebell Wood in North London. It's a small scrap of woodland, but said to be very ancient, and the scrap itself is quite busy with birds, squirrels, with signs of foxes too. What appeared to be a woodpecker's hole in a tree was of great interest to Sir S, who dangled my camera in said hole and got more than he bargained for when something squeaked, growled and battered the camera with a forboding hiss. We had no idea what it was, as we ran a mile in the other direction, and the only snap taken by my camera was useless as it just showed an empty, dark void.

Unfortunately the vivid bluebell carpets of my childhood were not to be found in this wood, however the scattering of blue, pink and whitebells was charming enough all the same, and the sun stayed out long enough for me to get a tad sunburnt.