Midsummer silence   Leave a comment

(I lie. It is 23rd June, St John’s Eve,  but this is the ‘real’ midsummer, the truly magical time.)

Just outside London, a steep hillside covered in big field daisies, meadows filled with full-headed field grasses.  In the corners of the field, elder trees just about ready to bring forth their fruit, and blackberry bushes in full bloom with pink-tinted flowers.  Both a hint of berries to come when we move into autumn.

Purple and white clover delicately fragranced. (When we were children we pulled out a single strand from the bloom and sucked the base because our  parents thought it was amusing to tell us this was how bees got honey.)

Wild woodbine (honeysuckle), old-fashioned roses with a fragrance that evokes memories of childhood. Oak leaves (because it is a magical time of the year.) And ferns, massive, jungle-like, primitive, in woodland with sunlight flashing through tall trees.

A tiny woodlouse strolls across the path. The only sound is the wind whispering through the grass. I have a micro-moment of realisation of existence.

 

 

 

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