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Plessey woods…

…Memories of dad, and squirrels, and of me being a little girl and of Iona being a little girl… Bittersweet…

Beautiful swathes of bluebells, ramsons and stitchwort, as far as the eye could see… Beautiful, therapeutic, uplifting…

With deep gratitude, as always, for nature; always there, always giving… ❤

 

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Wild garlic scented air drifted by the river where angelic pure white wood anemones carpeted the woodland floor, and birdsong serenaded anyone who had ears. A robin fed its chick, perched precariously on the barbed wire fence, before the sky darkened and unseasonal snow burst from the steely sky, almost as surprised as we were. Despite the wintery weather, a cheery blackbird steadfastly refused to stop singing, until day became night…

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