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Today I visited a bluebell wood for the first time (Mottisfont, Hampshire). I have always regarded bluebells as flowers of deep fascination and being in the middle of their magic carpet today made me feel like the eternal child of a great old tree. Incredible also to be in the wood within less than an hour from leaving home. A short train ride to the rural station of Mottisfont & Dunbridge and then a 15 minute walk up to the woods, many of which are protected and cared for by the National Trust.

Being in a bluebell wood for the first time transported me to a time which I only remember within the memories of my cells. There is no cognitive memory of it, but humans here, in this part of the world, have surely marvelled at this spring-time show in the same way I did today. There was a sense of that, anyway.

How can anyone call these weeds? They’re the sun, for free.

Following our delayed Spring, I was happy to see bluebells come up in our tiny garden. They all grew tall and handsome and I made a photographic study of some using a diopter (magnifying) lens. This close, the little lilac-blue flowers seemed angelically alive and some of the photos captured their blue haze (something like an aura perhaps). They reminded me of the association of the colour blue with heaven and also dreams. Also the colour of the Blessed Virgin Mary’s cloak and all that that beholds, so it is believed.

The air smelt different this morning, and it buzzed. I am excited for Spring. This was late Spring in Roman Ostia last year.

Why is it that no matter how much you tread on a lawn with daisies, these beauties always spring back up again with their pure white and proud petals and their sunny centres? To me, daisies demonstrate that there is a place in this idiotic world for eternal optimism and unconditional happiness. They keep springing back up. So can we. These ones were photographed in the Imperial Forum in Rome (April 2005). They’ve obviously been happy for a long time. Enjoy.