Bluebell Park

I think I can hear the dog scratching at the door. I suppose that means it's time for our walk. Now, where did I leave the lead? It should hang on the hook by the door, but why isn’t it there? Come on, fool, think, what were you doing when we came home this morning? I better look in the kitchen. I’m feeling so mixed up. Why can't I think straight? I used to be so sharp now it's not only words I keep loosing, but things.

Ah, there it is, I wonder why I put it on the stove? Just as well, I have not chopped it up for his food, but at last, we can go to the park for our walk. At least the dog is grateful for what I do remember and he barks and stands by his bowl if it looks like I might forget to feed him. That’s so useful. Now I prepare something for both of us when he barks.

It is so beautiful out here in the fresh air. At long last, it looks like winter is giving up, I’m still cold, but everywhere I look there are signs of growth. There are tiny blobs of green on the branches. Soon they’ll be leaves. I love walking in this park, not like the ones in town, all cut grass and trim edges. Here it is wild. A few days ago, it was muddy after weeks of rain and a nightmare to walk without slipping. Now, with only a couple of dry days, it has dried out and is lovely again. All around me, the forest floor looks like a guy who hasn’t shaved. It is like a green stubble everywhere. Soon it will be a full green beard. They have to grow to maturity quickly, so they are up and fully flowered before the trees, which form the canopy close off the sunlight. At least I remember this frantic green growth as the harbinger of the most fantastic sight. Bluebells, stretching as far as the eye can see in every direction. I still remember the beautiful aroma when they are in full flower, almost intoxicating, really. 

The dog has run on ahead, but I can still see him going down that path where we saw the wild boar last year. Was it last year? Yes, it must be as they have their young about now and that was when we saw them. Well, really more than saw them as the little dog went up to say hello and the sow decided she did not want her cute tiny piglets to meet this unkempt little black dog. She put her head down and mock charged him. I say mock since even from where I stood, I could see there was no malice, just a message, move out of our way or else. 

I love walking here at this time of the day. Everyone has gone home to have their evening meal or watch that infernal device the TV. It is just the birds and us. It must be the change of shift time for the birds. The nocturnal ones are tuning up while the day ones are settling in their nests for the night, I’m sure their last song is to wish each other a safe night's sleep. Since it's spring, I guess they’ll be getting broody soon. I must try to remember to bring seed for them. I remember how difficult it was to bring up my children on my own. I love helping the birds by putting out seed and suet at this time of the year, well, of course, I also bring seed in the winter, if I remember.

This time of the year is always beautiful. All the trees waking up from their winter sleep are so full of energy, I can feel it as I walk through the different trees. I love looking at the various trees. I’m sure I can see personalities. The Beech trees are the female spirits and the Oak the males. I often see them embracing. Some oaks are still bachelors, or maybe they are gay? A very few set up a relationship with Holly trees.

At the entrance to the park is an avenue of Apple trees planted long ago. I often wonder if once there was a house here and this road the drive. I can just imagine sitting in an open carriage with two matching horses and wearing a pale apricot crinoline dress trimmed with soft green ribbons matching the ones on my bonnet. I think I would like to have dark chestnut hair, thick and wavy, escaping from the edges of my hat. As we trot along, the petals from the apple blossom float like soft pink raindrops and settle on my lap. Of course, I would also have a little dog sitting on the seat beside me, a well behaved one.

Oh dear, what was that sound? I was daydreaming as I walked. It often happens nowadays, and now it is getting darker. I suppose I should get home soon. Oh, it’s only the wind blowing in the treetops that reminds me of Christina Rossetti’s poem, Who has seen the Wind? I remember my mother making me learn it off by heart, and I can still recite it. She only ever wanted a boy, so after my brother was born, I think she regarded me as superfluous. Maybe that's why she was so hard on me. Walking in this park helps me remember events and places from my youth. Pity, they are not always beautiful thoughts, though. Strangely, I remember more things now from my childhood than I have before, yet I cannot think clearly about recent stuff. I wonder what is happening to me? Whatever it is, I still love this park and what it does to my thoughts.

The dog has wandered over to check out the ducks in the little lake. I think I’ll sit on that bench beside the water and watch the water birds too. Those little Moorhens are such a pretty sight, with a string of little ones following. It’s such a pity I forgot to bring bread for the ducks, although I read somewhere that they should have seed, not bread. Otherwise, they get lazy and not bother to go looking for food. The bread fills them but has no real nutritional value. The long-term effect is angel wing, where the muscles are too weak to fold back on their sides. I’ve seen none here like that, though. I would suppose not too many of us bring bread for them.

Over there, I can see a flash of yellow. I’d better investigate. Oh, how lovely a solitary buttercup. Spring is certainly on its way. Soon this whole bank will be a mass of yellow, like the sunrise. It’s funny, I don’t like yellow, but I love buttercups and daffodils, then they are wild and I don’t have them in my garden or house. There is nothing more cheerful than a mass of buttercups or daffs in the wild, though. This bank is the buttercup one, but down by the entrance are the daffodils. They grow wild and multiply without being mollycoddled.  

The sun is going down fast now and there is still a chill. I think it's time to go home. Now, where is that little dog? The best way to get him to come is to rustle the packet of his biscuits in my pocket. There he comes, funny little creature licking his chops, so Pavlovian.