The English Meadow.
While dreaming of the summer to come, my mind transports me to a special place. A beautiful meadow with a sparkling silver stream running through it. More than one trout I have tickled there.
This dreaming place was blanketed with countless numbers of wild flowers of all colours and fragrances. Song birds singing, rabbits running and darting about, nibbling this, nibbling that. Then disappearing in an instant down a hole, at the sound of a fluttering butterfly.
Skylarks rise up singing, high in a cloudless blue sky.
Somewhere in the distance a cuckoo cuckoo’s, a pheasant calls his mate and the kestrel hovers high above my head. Jays scream out their displeasure at my presence, while the bees buzzed from flower to flower.
One approaches the meadow through a field of corn, and is greeted with the sweet scent of this hidden Eden.
You smell it before you see it.
When you reach the fence at the end of the cornfield, you are suddenly confronted with what can only be described as, a kaleidoscope of dazzling colour.
As your eyes drink in this little gift of Nature, your nose is bombarded with the scent of a multitude of blooms.
Deep deep breathes through the nose I take, almost tasting the meadow on the back of my tongue.
It was a meadow of stunning beauty and has been so, for thousands of years.
Many times in my younger days I would picnic among the buttercups. A white blanket on the ground, a basket of nice things to eat and a bottle or two of my Grandfathers home made wine.
With the sun on my back and another’s hand resting on mine. What more could a young man ask for on a sunny summers day.
There are no photographs of this my Shangri-La, my little piece of paradise.
The road to hell !!!