It's that time of the year again - though a bit late - when the bluebells burst out mob-handed and yomp all over the Clent Hills with cerulean yells.
Streams and rivers of blue pour down the hillsides and pool in hollows.
Whole hillsides are covered: sky-blue sunlight, indigo shadow.
They mark 'undisturbed ancient woodland,' and in a couple of weeks they'll all be gone.
No photo can give you the gusts of wild hyacinth scent.
That's why you have to go and join them, and yell blue with them, while they're here.
