There are certain signposts in our year that mark where we’re at; seasonal activities that give rhythm to our year, things that can be anticipated and anchor us in the here and now as we fly through the years with hardly a space to take a breath.
Coming to these woods in bluebell season is one such rite for us; we’ve been coming here for many years. It’s not a huge wood, and it’s not a massive deal, but we all seem to itch to do this yearly pilgrimage. In the words of the eldest as we were leaving the woods, “it’s like it’s not really spring until I’ve been here”. And it’s like that. Certain rites place us in the world and let us know what comes next. We know now spring is here, not because the calendar says so, but because the bluebells do.
And I like that seasonal connection.