‘Come with me into the woods where spring/ is/ advancing, as it does, no matter what.’ – Mary Oliver
Come with me into the woods. It’s quiet there, except for the chattering song of birds, and the swishing of emerging leaves. You can hear your own calm footfalls on the path, mixing with jumbled half moons of horseshoe prints pressed into the mud.
Come with me into the woods and see the starburst twinkle of wood anemones along the banks, their pale petals reaching out from a huddle of feathery leaves. Spreading beneath the trees and into the distance is a shadow-striped carpet of vibrant wild garlic, its scent permeating the air.
Come with me into the woods and spot the iridescent green of freshly unfurled leaves reaching up towards the light. On the edge of a clearing, a haze of scattered bluebells shimmer.
Come with me into the woods and hear the unexpected rustle of a fluffy-tailed young squirrel, clutching a nut close and skittering up the trunk of a tree. Here in the woods, spring is advancing- it has already arrived. Come with me, let us walk the path