Twelve

We arrive, late as usual, to find children and adults milling around, dressed in floral May crowns. Sunlight streams through the trees and the sky rises high above us all in a clear vibrant blue. The children scamper, immediately, excited to join the play with their friends. I drop the bags and breathe.

A little tug at my leg

“Mummy, can I have a crown?”

So we sit and weave. Long trails of ivy circling round and round, adding daffodils, forget-me-nots, blossom and dandelions. Satisfied, she disappears once more, happily bedecked.

And so we while away the morning. The children work, making and crafting, building and sharing. Tools are carried and plans made. Little backs arched and plump tummies pushed out whilst heads listen on one side then nod in agreement with each other. All of a sudden a decision is reached and in a flurry of activity they all scatter before returning to each other at the far end of the woods.

I watch them working on their shelter, adorning and reinforcing on all sides. Not even the lure of the fire and popcorn can bring them from this important task.

All around life strains forth. Amongst the wood smoke little voices bring glowing touches to the idyll.

 My Lady Spring is dressed in green,

She wears a primrose crown,

And little baby buds and twigs

Are clinging to her gown;

The sun shines if she laughs at all,

But if she weeps the raindrops fall.

My Lady Spring, my Lady Spring