Being in the moment is the best thing, In deep.
In the moment and mindful of all that has gone before, here in this place, for me and my friends, for others over time, over centuries as our stories interweave.
As I was walking through the fields I bumped into a hare
I caught him by the ears and said, now bite me if you dare
He gave a little squeal and cried, if you will let me go
I'll take you to the valley where the harebells grow
Where the lovely harebells grow
Come come I'll take you to the valley where the harebells grow
Along the new mown hay we fled, in search of harebells blue
And sure enough we found a spot where thousands of them grew
Each trembling on its stalk as though surprised with sudden fear
And ringing out a tiny chime that only hares can hear
That only hares can hear
Come come, I'll take you to the valley where the harebells grow
Where the harebells grow
Helsington Barrows is yellow with hawkbit, flowers and seed-heads mingling together. One o’clock, a girl is blowing parachute seeds into the air, letting the wind disperse them..
Wings shapely like a pale green leaf, veined like a leaf. The female under-wing is pale green, almost white, with sunlight changing colours on my camera screen as I inch closer and move in an arc about her. She does not stir, her legs poised in the same pattern. Legs of silken white. Her leaf-like camouflage is echoed in the dark spot and staining of the wings, like canker spots on the bramble leaf. When she flies, she is yellow. She alights for a moment on a yellow hawkbit, and is gone.