After stamping my foot about the lack of bluebell walks, Fin graciously granted me one after school the very next day.
We sped home from school, picked up the camera and Fin put on his favourite cords and homemade fleece (which is now at least two sizes too small, yet he refuses to give up in favour of more generously proportioned jackets).
Ten minutes out of Bridport we pulled off the road at Lewesdon Hill and set off for the bluebells, swinging our arms and chattering in that excitable, jumbled post-school way, lest we miss anything important out.
Above us, under the dark embrace of the beech woods, lay a carpet of bluebells. The sweet, heady scent hit first and then deep green, sun dappled to the colour of apples and a haze of that delicious purple-blue that can only be called 'bluebell'.
We strode wonderingly up the steep, beech shaded hill, inhaling deeply. I let my eyes drink it all in, whilst I fumbled for the camera - hoping to capture the sun on the bluebells, crouching low and focusing in on a gorgeous patch of blue.
'Ark!' squawked Finley - causing me to turn around in alarm. He lay on the floor in a heap of grey cord and badly fitting fleece, his free hand pointing at a tree root. When I had helped him up, the sun was gone again. Durr!
So we ambled on up the hill, marveling at our good fortune to be in this beautiful place, breathing in lungfuls of scented air, feeding our souls with blue. Yet every time the sun came out and I had my shot in sight, some minor calamity involving Finley occurred and the clouds moved in again.
To assuage his guilt, he sang a song about it - in a loose and quite tuneless interpretation of a west end musical - dancing camply for emphasis. We made our way thusly up the hill, he the pied piper to my helplessly giggling follower, until we found the swing.
Of course, the swing didn't want to co-operate with photography either - which Finley found hilarious. He hung on weakly, laughing and singing off key whilst the swing presented me with his back - no matter where I stood. Eventually he fell off and lay on the floor with tears of laughter in his eyes, whilst I finally managed to catch a longed for shot through the gloom to a sun-lit patch of bluebells.
On the way home, our cheeks sore from laughing, we counted our blessings and looked forward to more.
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