In every bluebell, there hides a fairy

The bluebells are out and fading already, a short wave of glorious colour across flooding across the woodland carpet.

This photie is one I have on the wall. This time of year but becoming a long time ago now.
Where do the days go? If I find them, I’m grabbing them and holding on, there’s some I want to live again. And again.
Life really is too short.

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