It's that time of the year again - though a bit late - when the bluebells burst out mob-handed and yomp all over the Clent Hills with cerulean yells.
Streams and rivers of blue pour down the hillsides and pool in hollows.
Whole hillsides are covered: sky-blue sunlight, indigo shadow.
They mark 'undisturbed ancient woodland,' and in a couple of weeks they'll all be gone.
No photo can give you the gusts of wild hyacinth scent.
That's why you have to go and join them, and yell blue with them, while they're here.
Oh - the smell of a bank of bluebells! How is it that one has now scent at all but a carpet of them can make you drunk with their perfume?
ReplyDeleteJust lovely -
ReplyDeleteJo, you put it so well! Never fall asleep in a bluebell wood, it's said. You'll wake up elsewhen...
ReplyDeleteIs it me? Or do the bluebells seem especially blue this year?
ReplyDeleteI think they are, Madwippet. Blue with cold, perhaps?
ReplyDeleteWe love bluebells. My former home, the Isle of Man, will be awash with them now in the glens and dales. Strangely, you rarely see them in Switzerland although their cousins the snowdrops are very common in late winter.
ReplyDeleteWhat is it they particularly like about GB?
Manxli
I think any sane person loves bluebells... Snowdrops are pretty good too.
ReplyDeleteGo to Skye for a real display - the woods there are carpeted with a mix of bluebells and primroses. A stunning sight.