Fairies

Emerging from the cool riverside woodland Sherlock and I step into a pool of sunlight; so bright that even armed with a cap and sunglasses it makes my eyes water. We are greeted with a fanfare from a lone wren and a fly past from a pair of speckled wood butterflies. Ambling down this pathway, flanked by banks of pink campion, daisies, buttercups and a carpet of speedwell I bore Sherlock with listing the birdsong. Chiffchaffs a plenty, a nuthatch and the obligatory wood pigeons. On the breeze there is a faint whiff of hawthorn blossom, the bluebells now sadly passing over. Dancing ahead of us in this warm spring air are the red and blue flashes of damselflies. Occasionally alighting on the colourful flora but too restless to settle they fly ahead of us. Without wishing to sound quaint or even whimsical it is like being led down the garden path by a flight of fairies.