Nearly Bluebells

They were there, in Castle Howard woods, but a sheen rather than a sheet.  Per­haps a week too early.  But prim­roses and viol­ets and celandine and dogs’ mer­cury.  Ploughed fields a rich red­dish brown, stubble from last year still in autum­nal col­ours.  May blos­som riot­ing in the hedges, besieged by bees.  Bird­song con­stantly, but the birds small flit­ting through the branches, mostly hid­den.  And we were on the  bus home before the rain came.