05/05/2026
new Journal Entry:
https://www.ireneamiet.com/blog/birdsongandbluebells
When morning mists disperse a little faster and bluebells wave in the forest breeze, I find a spot to slumber in pre-dawn quiet under the oak, waiting, watching, listening. Birds tell me all when I’m still; the season, the sunshine, the deer traipsing across the dell. She moves her head in circular motion before putting one tender hoof in front of the other, nibbling at a sapling’s first shoots.
A woodpecker male tells its mate he’s near with grub so she may leave the nest for a while and robin hops above garlic plants of snowy white, their fragrance sweetly spicing the air. Blue-tits have a tutting dispute high above me in the sycamore and a thrush drops down to peck at soil. Birdsong rises out of stillness, the pure sounds of a forest morning when bloom by blossom, nature starts to unfurl as the rays of sun light up the lustrous palette to paint the world in wonder.
