Dreaming of Bluebells

I dream about being in a bluebell woodland,

Morning’s dampness on my hands.

I find a torn seam in elemental’s veil;

Ask to enter the precious trail.

Bare toes tickling on grassy moss, 

Nose wrinkling as plumes of bluebells waft;

Lost in a deep purple blue lake,

Looking at the shapes the old oak makes,

Their wizened branches seeking light,

Orange tip butterflies flee with all their might!

Woodland’s serenade fades gently like a breeze;

I take a sip of Titania’s tea,

Finding myself mixing a pool of morning dew

With soothing dainty hues from the bluebell wood

on my watercolour palette ready for a new painting to emerge.


13 thoughts on “Dreaming of Bluebells

    • Hi Sue. Thank you. The bluebell woods particularly only English bluebell woods are so so special and I love the old trees, celendines and mosses. I noticed quite a few fallen trees, some from old age but others from storm damage. I hope you are well and enjoying your walks. 🙂 🙂 xx

    • Thanks Trini. I felt so inspired walking in such a magical special ancient woodland, just full of English Bluebells. Their aroma was intoxicating and we were the only people there. I’m glad that my post was a lovely treat! Lol 🙂 🙂 xx

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