It's almost my favourite time of year when the bluebells come out and the landscape feels like it is breathing out new life (and they're my favourite flowers along with wild poppies). In folk lore bluebell woods were seen as dangerous places - faeries were said to live in the flowers themselves and this was in the days before they had wings and were pretty - the days when they lured you to their domain with distant music and short-glimpsed dancing never to return again... I've always thought they were the most peaceful, beautiful places on earth - many a teenage afternoon was spent roaming the countryside then falling asleep for a blissful nap in the middle of them...
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