Remembering
A brief reminiscence of what was, but will never be again
I step off the path and follow my nose, tracing a route through the trees, trying to avoid stepping on dog violets, wood sorrel and primroses. There is a faint waft of garlic coming from a patch of ransoms a way away to my right. Bluebells provide an incoming tide of blue among the greys and browns of trees and earth, battling the green of dog's mercury for supremacy of the woodland floor. Bees are buzzing busily; on a wh...