In such a contrast to last week, the air is warm, the days are clear and the sun is beating down, shedding that early May light onto everything it touches.
The sharpness and contrast button is turned up full and the fields and woods, trees and flower look like a painting. I am sure from the top field nearest Bluebell Hill I can see Glastonbury Tor waving in the distance.
There is magic in the atmosphere, as the bluebells and the lime green leaves of the beech trees complement each other beautifully. Or should that be compliment?
‘You look nice today, bluebells.’
‘And you, beech trees, look divine.’
Down in the village, there is a poster outside the polling station, used yesterday for the election for a new police and crime commissioner for Dorset (as if anyone cares) and a referendum on democracy within our district council (about which we should all care very much).Should it be an elected leader and cabinet-style of local government or the committee way of doing things, like it used to be in years of old? In a referendum sparked by local activists, the outcome is awaited with interest. Apparently, it won’t be until 10am this Sunday that votes will start to be counted and verified. Why we have to wait this long is anyone’s guess. Perhaps it’s the leader and cabinet dragging it out.
In any case, I take down the Public First posters now the referendum is past. I am with them all the way, but can’t abide street litter. I know for a fact that at least one vote went against them yesterday because they had a poster right outside the polling station. I am not sure if that’s in the spirit of referendum/election protocol. They would be the first to cry ‘foul’ if a poster from the other side had been placed so prominently outside the place where people cast their votes.
I put my cache of out-of-date posters in the bin and then head up the hill for those bluebells and their intoxicating scent. I can hear the conversation between the flowers and trees the higher I climb.