The bluebells ...

Every year, I look out for the snow drops in the church yard - when I first see them, a vague tender sadness fills my heart - 

I'm aware of the slow ageless dance of the world - 

Later, there are daffodils - Max mows carefully around them - we place the brave swaggering yellow flowers in bright vases - 

Pink blossoms appear on the venerable apple tree - new leaves are like delicate flags -

Then there are the blue bells - 

Last weekend, we were walking down Brenscombe Hill, following the path through beech and birch trees -

There, between the trees, were shimmering pools of blue bells - each flower glowed with light - pure - unearthly - 

I felt the heat of my soul, burning within my nest of bones -