I walk in an unbridled rush of green.
A new and lush landscape that throngs and buzzes with life.
At the pathway’s edges, lime green leaves reflect the sun’s light with bold abundance.
Their sudden saturation of the landscape is startling – an intensity of colour that fills my lungs.
I cannot help but breathe the season.
Verges, overnight it seems, are awash with colour – magnificent swathes of flowers spilling to the lanes beside them.
Ox-eye daisies sway gently amongst lacy blooms of cow parsley, transforming everyday journeys with their simple, exuberant display.
On the roadside, the joyful yellow of gorse, the fresh pink of campion, and the delicate lilacs of cuckoo-flower mingle with the sparkling grasses.
Once sleepy bees and other flying insects move between the pollen banquet with purpose, joy and alacrity.
Hardy valerian appears in borders, cracks and crevices, its scent sweetly intoxicating, its clusters of delicate flowers adding whites and purple pinks to embankments – to village edges.
In May, mother nature wields her power differently.
Not a gentle unfurling, a whisper or an eddy, not a stern or volatile reminder of her force.
In May she lowers all defence, and all restraint. She abandons artistry or cunning, the hidden or the enigmatic, patience, plans or timetables.
She simply lifts a veil, and life flows in with wild and natural fervour.
At this moment, the vibration of spring unleashed fills the air.
Colour, leaves, birds and flowers materialise around me in a sun-bathed riot of sound and vision.
I tread carefully through the earthy woodland mulch, bluebells festooning the sloping banks around me, their heady scent released in waves.
Amidst them, violets, yellow archangel, greater stitchwort and yellow pimpernel – scattered fragments of brilliant colour in the depths of the trees.
Star spangled ramsons flank the damp and shaded pathways, filling the air with pungent richness.
They cluster close to streams and rivulet currents – tinkling waterways rife with life in the rising warmth of May.
A few metres from the pathway, a Great spotted woodpecker taps busily, offering the briefest glimpse of his red cap and belly against a sun-dappled trunk.
The songs of blackcaps, song thrushes, wrens and tits mingle with blackbird and robin.
The forest is alive with their immersive soundscape.
Down in the river valley, a high speed squirrel pelts over a fallen trunk, bridging the stream, leaping adeptly from branch to branch – an agile reflection of spring’s gathering energy.
Across the hilltop farms, bold lambs chase and caper through verdant fields. Red kites and buzzards wheel in the blue skies above, adding ethereal calls to the light spring breeze.
Anywhere, everywhere, there are white flowers.
From the verges and the woodlands to the farm fields and the lanes.
Thick-clustered, heavy laden boughs of Mayflower, with its heady scent, white orb buds, and mesmerising cascades of blossom. The pinnacle of seasonal opulence.
May is abundance – unadulterated bloom and beauty – greens that re-invent the landscape, sights and sounds that consume and sweep the senses in their wake.
Within the scent of new grass, the air still holds the faintest chill – its freshness the last white bloom of purity – before the hazy yellows of summer arrive.
I cannot pinpoint, freezeframe, or neatly articulate May.
Its energy is too wild, too vibrant.
I can only breathe the season.
As it tumbles, unfettered, over and around me…
bewilderbrain 
Thoughts or ramblings welcome here…