The Bluebell Wood by James P

The blue bell wood    

I pushed through an army of trees to find an ancient woodland, filled with a sea of blue bells. I opened the corroded gate to enter the woodland. The gate was old and made from rotting wood; crumbling under my fingers.

I inhaled the smell of spring freshening the air, coming from the carpet of blue bells. New born rabbits where hoping over logs and passing stunningly, beautiful flowers.

Sitting on a fallen tree log brought back memories which started flooding through my mind there was one about a camping trip when I was twelve.

Utter silence was broken by the distant call of a wood pigeon, which emanated from the horizon.

I pushed back through the army of trees and back through the corroded gate to leave the woodland.