Each lunch time I would walk around the woods above Wells in Somerset. The walk was a barometer telling me the progress of the seasons. When the wood anemones were about to flower, then the bluebells, and when in autumn the colours were about to turn.
The world moves on and I no longer do this walk. Now my trips outs with my camera feel like guess work. I ask friends how things are progressing, but it’s not the same.
Around the back
The carpets of wild garlic in this wood are amazing. A sheet of white in the dappled light.
A comma butterfly soaks up the last of the afternoon sun.