A late post of an earlier piece Ashwellthorpe
To any passing walker I was a photographer lying on the ground trying to get a close-up of orchids. I did have my camera in my hands but the truth was, my focus was elsewhere! I lay on the ground intoxicated! There was no alcohol involved, as St. Peter had argued on that first Pentecost, it was far too early in the day! I was, I think, intoxicated by Spring! Ashwellthorpe Wood was like a great cathedral. Overhead greening branches were Gothic arches, the jubilant praise of birdsong filled the air, the floor was carpeted here with the bluebells, there with the white and green of wild garlic and along the way primroses, wood anemones, lady’s smock, violets, forget-me-nots, and early purple orchids. I had come to see how Ash Dieback Disease was effecting things and been ambushed by the glory of the wood. There is a brief window, between the dark of winter and summer, when full leaved branches shade out the sun, in which woodland flowers blossom - each one with a be