WHAT THE BLUEBELLS TAUGHT ME

I’ve gone on my long walk today, and I’ve found myself in the bluebell woods. The bluebells though, are past their best. They look withered and faded - their brief and glorious lives dwindling in the evening light.

I’m not disappointed by that. I saw them in their glory a few weeks ago, and now it feels weirdly comfortable to be settled in their patch while they gently shrivel and dim. It would be all too easy to take a depressing view of life from this, but somehow, I don’t feel the metaphor; instead I’m just thankful.

I’m propped up against a log. My rucksack is serving as a sort of a back rest. In the green canopy above, the birds are singing: I can hear high pitched bubbly songs and squeaks and, though it’s not a thing I know about, I’m pretty sure there are blackbirds and robins up there, not to mention the delicious warbles of other birds I can’t identify.

What would this wood be like without those birds? Quiet, still, creepy? It would be noticeable I think - their chorus is like a soundtrack.

A bee buzzes past, in that gentle way that bees do. Somewhere, a way off, a child shouts and a dog barks. The undergrowth rustles. Everything else is still.

There’ll be more bluebells next year of course. Perhaps by then, the world will be more stable, better defined in the aftermath of this weird little season. What the bluebells did, what they taught me to do, is to shine regardless of whichever season we’re in. When your time comes to lap up the golden sunlight and be your best, beam away like there’s no tomorrow.

I’m a reactor to what people think of me, but I shouldn’t be. Our job is just to be, I reckon, especially in the dark times.

That may be why I feel thankful in the bluebell woods today; thankful that they were here, that they shone until they could burst with life no more, and it was beautiful to behold. It’s a lovely thought that I can do the same. That’s what the bluebells taught me.