The gradual rise in temperature and the lengthening of the day triggers a great deal of activity, with the first noticeable change being in the form of the groundcover, as a host of plants force their way through the leaf litter to greet the new season. Many of these plants have been dormant through the winter, whilst others may have been dormant for years, now taking advantage of the opening up of the woodland canopy after the impact of the winter storms – something that this winter has not been short of - upon the weak and elderly.
After the wettest winter on record spring arrives bright and warm and the promises of March, when shoots began to push their way up through the woodland floor and buds began to fatten on the tips of branches, are now fulfilled. The flowers know that their time is limited, they have to flower and set seed before the canopy closes over, denying them life-giving light and warmth until the endless cycle completes another rotation. First amongst these were the primroses, now on the wane, with only a few remaining to tell of the joy they bring to herald the approaching end of winter. Their place has been taken by a whole host of flowers, colouring the woodland floor with yellows, purples, pinks and white.
However, as wondrous as the awakening of the woodland and the emergence of the spring flowers has been, it still pales in comparison to the display of bluebells that awaits me as the path continues to wind its way through the woods. And following weeks of expectation, it does not disappoint.
The blue against the green of the woodland floor is one of English nature’s greatest displays, one that overwhelms the senses. The plants beside the path are individually discernable, with their delicate bell flowers hanging from one side of the stalk, causing the distinctive curve, as though suggesting humility and diffidence. However, as I look up it becomes harder to identify individual plants, until it is impossible for the eye to separate one from another, and it is just a gently shifting mass of sun-drenched blue, becoming a misty blue haze, something more experienced than seen, for the eye and brain cannot cope with the sensory overload. The blue continues beneath the trees, washing against the trunks and fallen logs until it is lost from view. The fragrance is carried on the breeze, heady and at the same time as delicate as the flower itself.
Unfortunately, the display will be all too brief, but it is all the more magnificent for its fleeting appearance.
The separation between bluebells and dog’s mercury can clearly be seen, as though a strict demarcation line has been drawn between the two territories that each could approach but neither dare cross, as there is no common ground where the two species mix. Only the lesser celandine seems to have been given a free range to mix with both, although it is noticeable that its foothold is not so strong amongst the bluebells, possibly because the removal of the canopy has deprived them of the damp woodland they prefer.