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This winter I have been feeling dissatisfied with life. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why but it had something to do with feeling the dullness of all work and no play. Working full time as I do weekends are precious but the pressure to squeeze some “me time” out of the weekend has caused me to be fraught with competing pressures of laundry and shopping, cleaning and visiting family and friends; all winter I have been dashing about filling every weekend with “things that must be done” rather than doing what I wanted to do, even quilting had become a “must do”, working to an exhibition deadline.
So last weekend as Sunday evening darkened and I was driving home from another journey made for someone else’s benefit, I determined that I needed to develop a cunning plan which would allow me time to do something I had been yearning to do; walk in a wood carpeted with native Bluebells (Hyacinthoides nonscripta) while they are still flowering, admittedly rather late this year. As I have been driving about for work I have passed many a little glade by the roadside and seen a blue mist above the undergrowth and caught a faint whiff of that wonderful scent, which indicated Bluebells were flowering there; I wanted to stand ankle deep in bluebells in a sun dappled wood. Saturday is usually my shopping day, but not this weekend, the forecast indicated that the sun would shine on Saturday and I planned to be in a Bluebell wood.
