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In the Bluebell Woods ( Part I I )

IN THE BLUEBELL WOODS  ( PART I I )


But none of these took my fancy
As much as the myriad bluebells
Which had spread to every shady nook and cranny
Of the floor of the leafy sea.
It was love at first sight.
Every one of these tiny blue mermaids
Had a straight smooth stem a few inches tall,
And at the top every one turned down
Her head shyly in silent blue whispers.
These creatures were too delicate to pick,
And it never even crossed 
My adoring mind to try, 
But I ran to my mother and pulled her 
By the little finger over to where
The biggest clumps lay spread out taking their ease.
Unnecessary to pick  any of the bluebells;
It was sufficient to have a short conversation with them and about them.

Of the end of the woods trip…..I have no memory.
Indeed, I cannot really recollect
The day ending at all.
The lack of time sense when you are four
Has the advantage of allowing
What may well be a short, intensely-lived experience
To telescope into a one of much longer duration,
Sometimes without any definite end.

It may be that 
The bluebell woods of Shotley Bridge
Were no more than the overgrown garden
Of some elderly maiden aunt
Whom my mother was visiting that day,
Or perhaps they weren’t in reality
Located in Shotley Bridge at all,  
But in some other location  -
But they were there somewhere, 
And I had really seen them,
I had really smelled them.

To try to recapture childhood memories
Is like trying to preserve
The beauty of a flower
By picking it for a collection.
Its beauty is gone with the picking.

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