13.05.18 After the rain, the sun shone warmth on Killykeeghan Nature Reserve

As the globe turns, there are things we reach for at certain times. Today, I went to hear the Cuckoo, a need for seasonal ‘firsts’ is strong in me. The first of everything is very special. So caught up in the quest, I wandered, forgetting the secret spinney of Hazel and Bluebell and remembering it all at once. Oh, yes! There you are!

Musky scent and dappled light; the verdant and lapis lit the path through the secret way. Sometimes its good to have a path, for fear of the wrath of faeries, who were said to live inside the bells. The ominous ring of the Bluebell, if heard, will spell death to whoever bares those unfortunate ears, they say.

I tred softly on the woodland path, it takes much longer than our time on earth to get to this stage of bloom. It is precious and ancient and magical. It comes like clockwork if left alone, casting a charm on so many open hearts. Here since the Ice Age, The Bluebell takes five whole years from seed to bulb. A labour of slow and perfect growth.

A mantle of Bluebells, the cycle of Spring and all amongst it, the Cuckoo did sing amidst the chapel like spires of this tiny thicket. It circled around me like the answer to a prayer.

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