Bluebells
Bluebells
Bluebells
Almost synonymous with woodland in my mind, these iconic blooms thrive in a variety of undisturbed landscapes.
As winter turns to spring and spring to summer, I love anticipating the next ephemeral splash of colour our native wildflowers bring. Perhaps one of my favourite windows in nature's calendar is the emergence of our iconic bluebells, which I had always associated with (ancient) woodland.
Only in taking unexpected delight in seeing carpets of them coating the rugged clifftops of the Cornish coast and lining the unkempt road verges of the Kintyre Peninsula of Scotland did I realise that it is actually land undisturbed by us and our activities, rather than specifically woodland, that allows great swathes to still bloom in their purple splendour.
Are these places the last vulnerable vestiges of a vanishing world holding on in the far flung corners of the UK? Or are they an inspiring space that jolts us from our shifting baseline syndrome if we afford them our attention? I can never quite decide. But, whether these beautiful bluebells provide a joyous chime of hope or a despairing death knoll, they are certainly a privilege to behold.
As winter turns to spring and spring to summer, I love anticipating the next ephemeral splash of colour our native wildflowers bring. Perhaps one of my favourite windows in nature's calendar is the emergence of our iconic bluebells, which I had always associated with (ancient) woodland.
Only in taking unexpected delight in seeing carpets of them coating the rugged clifftops of the Cornish coast and lining the unkempt road verges of the Kintyre Peninsula of Scotland did I realise that it is actually land undisturbed by us and our activities, rather than specifically woodland, that allows great swathes to still bloom in their purple splendour.
Are these places the last vulnerable vestiges of a vanishing world holding on in the far flung corners of the UK? Or are they an inspiring space that jolts us from our shifting baseline syndrome if we afford them our attention? I can never quite decide. But, whether these beautiful bluebells provide a joyous chime of hope or a despairing death knoll, they are certainly a privilege to behold.
As winter turns to spring and spring to summer, I love anticipating the next ephemeral splash of colour our native wildflowers bring. Perhaps one of my favourite windows in nature's calendar is the emergence of our iconic bluebells, which I had always associated with (ancient) woodland.
Only in taking unexpected delight in seeing carpets of them coating the rugged clifftops of the Cornish coast and lining the unkempt road verges of the Kintyre Peninsula of Scotland did I realise that it is actually land undisturbed by us and our activities, rather than specifically woodland, that allows great swathes to still bloom in their purple splendour.
Are these places the last vulnerable vestiges of a vanishing world holding on in the far flung corners of the UK? Or are they an inspiring space that jolts us from our shifting baseline syndrome if we afford them our attention? I can never quite decide. But, whether these beautiful bluebells provide a joyous chime of hope or a despairing death knoll, they are certainly a privilege to behold.
