A Native Bluebell Wood

This was a first for me and oh, oh, oh so magical. We were trespassing (perhaps) in an ancient Dorset pheasant shooting woodland but who could resist treading amongst native bluebells, celandines, wood anemones with their six or seven petals, amongst gnarled and twisted trees dead or in leaf, amongst sunlight streaming between shadows on probably the warmest UK April day! Scents crushed underfoot arise with a  hint of wild garlic mixed with a luscious aroma of canola / oil seed rape from the surrounding fields.  Transported, transfixed heavenwards,  I wished to lay me down with bluebells 'round my hair listening to birdsong in woodland.  A long strip of ancient land left alongside a lane was wide enough to feel concealed within that habitat.  Oh to be lost in a bluebell wood whilst they are in bloom.

bluebells in a blur