When you live in a landscape it is very easy to take it for granted. You see it every day and normality can dull the beauty, busyness draws the attention away from open eyed wonder and everyday cares can colour the scene grey. Sharing that landscape with someone who is seeing it for the first time rekindles the wonder as you open the windows of the soul together and the scales of habit fall from vision; the world seems fresh and new, beauty is reborn and details are thrown into multihued relief.

Not that you can take an English spring for granted very easily… there is such life and colour, so many small beauties as wildflowers bloom in the hedgerows, fields glow golden with buttercups and dandelions, and carpets of bluebells rise like mist beneath the trees. Birds sing and fly purposefully, hunting down nesting materials, mates and food for their young, squirrels scamper through the branches and the subliminal hum of insects fills the air. Add a little warmth and sunshine and you have a recipe for perfection.

Sunday morning dawned fair and bright after the rain. We had another day in the landscape to share with our friend but we did not have far to go to our first stop, a small patch of beech woods a few minutes’ drive away from Stuart’s home. We wanted to show him the Wood Stone… ancient petroglyphs hidden in a small glade away from the path through the trees. This stone was a revelation to us when we first found it, and though it still keeps its mysteries it has opened a world of possibilities for us to explore. Even its discovery was strange… but that is another story.

The fragrance of wet earth and bluebells is a heady and unforgettable mix, yet one relatively unfamiliar to our American friend. There is a real delight in sharing these moments, a sense of joy and pride in the land and its beauty, a realisation of privilege. The bluebells have been wonderful this year, lingering longer than usual with the weather and flowering in profusion. A tiny tree creeper… a tree mouse they are called sometimes… caught my eye and I watched it for a few moments, climbing the trunk of one tree before flitting to the base of the next in its endless search for breakfast.

The trees feel vibrant and truly alive at this time of year as the sap rises and a canopy of green filters the sunlight. We can recognise the slow life in them, akin to our own, sourced in the same Source. Perhaps it is this recognition that allows us to brush the edge of something else within them and feel an answering knowledge and curiosity about these small, two legged creatures who observe them. You can very clearly see where the tales of Sylphs… and Ents… arose. Perhaps it is that, at times such as this, we can reach beyond ourselves and see in the strange shapes the waiting embrace of a friend or the welcoming arms of a fellow dancer of life.