In its 25th year, Karl and I decided to visit the annual May Day Bluebell Walk in Warwickshire. Hosted by a private estate for two days only, the entrance proceeds go to two good causes (Meningitis Now and Molly Olly’s Wishes) and, judging on the number of cars continuously streaming in through the gates, it raises a lot! We timed it about right as we arrived just after it opened at 10am and we left around half 12… just as the queue to get in stretched miles back!
I was looking forward to the event as I wanted the opportunity to get my camera out (and dust it off!) again. Here are some of the snaps I took:
And, possibly my favourite photo of the day; Superman amid the bluebells! I think he was just chilling out – I didn’t see any damsels in distress or likewise! 😉
The Bluebell by Emily Bronte
The Bluebell is the sweetest flower
That waves in summer air:
Its blossoms have the mightiest power
To soothe my spirit’s care.
There is a spell in purple heath
Too wildly, sadly dear;
The violet has a fragrant breath,
But fragrance will not cheer,
The trees are bare, the sun is cold,
And seldom, seldom seen;
The heavens have lost their zone of gold,
And earth her robe of green.
And ice upon the glancing stream
Has cast its sombre shade;
And distant hills and valleys seem
In frozen mist arrayed.
The Bluebell cannot charm me now,
The heath has lost its bloom;
The violets in the glen below,
They yield no sweet perfume.
But, though I mourn the sweet Bluebell,
‘Tis better far away;
I know how fast my tears would swell
To see it smile to-day.
For, oh! when chill the sunbeams fall
Adown that dreary sky,
And gild yon dank and darkened wall
With transient brilliancy;
How do I weep, how do I pine
For the time of flowers to come,
And turn me from that fading shine,
To mourn the fields of home!