Blackbirds and Bluebells….

This very morning while you slumbered soundly submerged in dreamy worlds, my sleepy bunnies, yours truly was up before the lark. As dawn cracked its neon pink yolk over peaks of fluffy white clouds, Peas and I traveled by badger back (thank you Barnabus Bodkin!) to Blackbrook wood to hear the rare melody of the Nightingale.

As good old Barnabus bounded along the desolate road we passed Colonel Crow solemnly posting sentry at the gates of the golf course, while Reynard rolled around in the rough performing his dewy ablutions. We joyously saluted Magnus and Magdalena Pie as they swooped on a rotting wood stack for a louse-y breakfast.

We leapt across the luscious threshold into a perfumed paradise thick with the rich aroma of waking Bluebells, yawning and stretching their leafy arms. “What do Bluebells sound like?” whispered Peas expectantly. She’d never seen them before. “Like the tinkling giggle of giddy little elves my dearest Peas” I replied, naturally.

Barnabus snuffled and shuffled ever deeper into the tangled undergrowth, Peas and I clinging to his fur for dear life lest we be snatched away by a mischievous bramble and used in a sacrificial abundance ceremony for a bountiful blackberry crop.

Oh but darlings! Imagine our relief when suddenly we broke out of our prickly prison and into the lush meadow, bathed in the fluoro glow of the rising sun, to an orchestral cacophony of birdsong – Blackbird with his R2D2 warble, Great Tit frantically squeaking a wheel, Magpie rattling matchbox maracas, Meadow Pippet shooting his ray gun, Rook on kazoo, and all the while Woodpecker kept time with a hammer drill while Nightingale’s sweet 4th dimensional solo fluttered upon the breeze. Treats for the soul dear hearts…