Everything had doubled. More than doubled. I ran down the main path, goat willow on one side and broom on the other. Occasionally, I’d receive a sudden but gentle slap of coconut from the gorse.
Further down, light was filtering through the upper branches of the Greenwood, lighting last year’s leaves on the woodland floor, creating pockets of tranquility and calm backed by a woodpigeon’s urgent thrumming.
It was a day for buttercups and bluebells, from garden through to Greenwood. Taking a different path, I noticed for the first time the stream that emerged from beneath the path, meandering from field to trees, still in the warm morning air.