Fairy Flowers

Waterlily Pond in the rain, Kew Gardens

Bluebells. At last, at last.

The gardeners at Kew suggest that the bluebell woods are best viewed by late afternoon light. So I waited. Strolling through the grounds, while admiring the Monkey Puzzle tree and rarer-than-rubies Wollemi Pines, immersed in the Rory McEwen exhibition at the gallery, I anticipated the coming glory; held it to myself, like the prospect of seeing a beloved, long-awaited face.

However. What had begun as a day of lively sky turned overcast, then came rain, a light but persistent spring soaking under lowering clouds.

So rather than being lit by flooding gold, the bluebells lay dim and secret in their loveliness, as drops fell softly on their trembling heads.

As always, the photos can only suggest the presence and wholeness of what my eye sees and what my heart feels. Capture only an echo of elusive violet ghosting over the woodland floor, an unearthly yet utterly of-the-earth beauty. For what it's worth, I offer it to you.

A fine and subtle spirit dwells

In every little flower,
Each one its own sweet feeling breathes
With more or less of power.
There is a silent eloquence
In every wild bluebell
That fills my softened heart with bliss
That words could never tell.

—Anne Bronte, The Bluebell

Tomorrow morning I leave for home. "Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration," said Charles Dickens, who expresses it better than I ever could.

So Wildspell will be quiet for a while as I devote time to my loved ones and home and reintegrating my changed self into my changed landscape.

But all the while, I hope to be dreaming of bluebells.

Good deeds

Every morning I pick up a copy of the free Metro* tabloid newspaper at the Tube stop and read it on the way to that day's adventure.

Amid the news stories, which tend toward the lurid, is a feature of which I have grown fond: "Good Deed Feed." (I also read "Pet of the Day" and "Rush-Hour Crush" but that has nothing to do with the plot of this post—I just mention it to give you a deeper insight into my character. Heh.)

"Good Deed Feed" passes along brief thank-you messages from grateful Brits to various good samaritans they've encountered. A lot of them have to do with people returning lost items, paying fares for hapless commuters who unexpectedly find themselves without cash, or helping those who have fallen down, are sick, or are lost.

Not only is it pleasant to read about happy outcomes to everyday disasters, I like it because it reminds me that I have been the beneficiary of Good Deeds myself. At the risk of sounding like Zuzu from It's a Wonderful Life, I'll bet that every person who experiences a kindness like this passes it along in some way to another person. And it's wonderful for this recovering misanthrope to have my fellow humans watching my back:

There are several kind London Underground employees who have refunded money to my Oyster Card on various occasions, when I lost it by improperly "touching in" on the card readers. (Trickier than you'd think.)

And more kind people who pointed me in the right direction or even let me tag along with them when I didn't know how to get somewhere—including the lovely British couple on their way to the Isabella Plantation at Richmond Park, who had just spent two weeks on a road trip from Mississippi to Nashville.

Young men who have given up their seats for me on the Tube a couple of times—not because I'm less able to stand, just out of kindness. (I'm not even a "Super Adult," as they call senior citizens here.)

And many other Londoners who have gone out of their way to be polite, helpful and friendly, from people I've met during walking tours to the hospitable couple from whom I'm subletting my flat.

London, I've tried to do a few good deeds of my own in thanks. And even though you won't see this printed in Metro, I send out little angels of gratitude, winging from my heart to cast blessings on each of you. 

I am also grateful to all of you who have kept me company on this journey by following my adventures here on whatever level. Posting a lot of photos and integrating them with text is just plain difficult on an iPad, so I'm not always satisfied with the results; but that's one of those First World problems I can't complain too much about. So thank you for slogging through it all with me, my friends.

*Things I've learned from reading Metro: "Toby" in England is the sort of name that suggests a person who is an accountant, and even actors think that HBO overdoes the nudity on The Game of Thrones.

Photos taken in Regent's Park and other locations the week of May 5.

Colorways

These jeweled hyacinths, flame-tipped tulips and primrose posies, set off by tender, glowing greens, flow in rivers of color, bordering garden and path.

The glowing young tulips, springing forth from the open, happy faces of the primroses, speak of an innocence and grace that touches my heart.

May your eyes drink in an abundance of beauty as April speaks her last eloquent words.

The blossoming of Prunus, Pyrus, Malus & Crataegus

The two women from China—mother and daughter—turned from surveying the sun-dappled glades, splashed with tightly folded blossoms. The daughter smiled ruefully at me. "It is too early."

They, like I, had walked to the farthest corner of Kew Gardens to behold the bluebell woods. But it has been a late spring. The little flowers still hold their blossoms close, not quite ready to release the magic of their deep-blue music under the pouring-down glory of sunlight.

However. Bluebell lovers who were too early found an immensity of consolations. Playing second fiddle to no dainty woodland flower is the family Rosaceae, who were busy spending their drifting clouds of blossom and sweetness to draw droves of deliciously fat bees.

And of course, meeting a peacock along the way is always a consolation.

Some offspring of the family Rosaceae* pictured:

Genus Prunus: cherry, plum, and other trees and shrubs that bear stone fruits. Plum and cherry trees are greatly venerated in the East, as told in this lovely tale from Japan.

Genus Pyrus: pear trees, bearing pomaceous fruits. Pear trees live a long time and symbolized immortality to the ancient Chinese.

Genus Malus: apple, crabapple and wild apple. Avalon, the island where King Arthur went to recover from his wounds, means the "Isle of Apples."

Genus Crataegus: hawthorn, also called thornapple and hawberry; the hawthorn often marks the entrance to a faery mound in Ireland.

*Since many of the ID tags on the trees used only Latin names, good thing I had my iPad along and could Google for their common names.

White petals & clouds

For you

Spring has been a long time coming in Minnesota, and in other parts, too.

I have received an urgent request to post photos of blooming things to comfort snow-weary eyes. Brighter days are surely just around the corner...but in the meantime, here is an urban-yet-wild-blooming bouquet from my eye to yours.