This merry month has shot through the soil in the Ribble Valley. Within days the last sycamore and oak has budded or sprung into leaf, towering over dandelion dotted fields.
In the woods, different carpets cover the fragrant forest floor. Wild garlic and bluebells undulate as if continuously teased up by industrious elves, catching the light filtering through the canopies in a spectrum of purple to baby blue.
Every tiny flower celebrates perfection in uniqueness, harmonising with the grass rippled by a much milder wind.
Together the flowers weave floral dreams, a source of promises, of warmth and abundance to come, in the time of plenty.