There is something wonderfully liberating about walking in woodlands. The towering trees stretching up like advanced yoga practitioners towards the taunting sky; the way shafts of sun slice through boughs; the dramatic contrasts of light and dark; the twittering of birds; the scratching of hidden beasts in the undergrowth. It’s enough to turn me all poetic.

I try to make at least a weekly pilgrimage to one of the forests of the Wyre. I find being among the ancient oaks, burly beeches and towering pines is a great place to dwell on life and the universe and everything, to contemplate, to cast aside woes, and to revel in the simple yet incredibly intricate wonders of our amazing planet.

And in the middle of the Wyre forest, if you really are desperate to let it all out, then go ahead – no-one can hear you SCREAM!

Anyway, I find myself with an unusual amount of free time on my hands at the moment. My littlest man has started at nursery school four mornings a week and I currently have a fair bit of time to myself, especially as this freedom has coincided with me deciding I don’t want to “do” P.R. work any more (although always willing to reconsider if the offer’s right!) Problem is, I’m still undecided what to do next. My husband calls my current work-less state “living the life of riley” or “being a lazy cow” (said sweetly) – I like to think of it as taking time out to discover my true purpose and calling. “Only in the midst of silence can we discover our true selves.” Someone must have once said that, surely?

Sorry, I’m digressing again. I’m easily distracted these days. It might be early onset dementia. Or I might be pre- menopausal, and therefore set for an early descent into night sweats, forgetfulness and wrinkly hands.

Where was I? Oh, yes, extolling the virtues of walking in pretty woodlands, with time on my hands, no deadline approaching, no work woes to clutter my little head. And of course it’s also a great place for taking photos.

So this short blog is just to give me the opportunity to post up a few pix taken this weekend in Wyre Forest, near the Discovery Centre, while out for a short walk with my youngest (the evil genius one, as opposed to the good genius one).

We spent a very pleasant two hours in the park, eating icecream and walking the yellow trail, following a series of “egg-straordinary” information posts.

As usual when out walking, we had to go off trail, thereby following one of the many Wrekin Mountaineering Club/Bob Mitch-isms  by which we live our lives. In this case, “sheep follow tracks – lions make their own.” This philosophy has been known to lead to people landing in trouble (falling off cliffs, getting lost, tumbling into hidden mineshafts) but on this walk our only risks were from hidden tree stumps or dog pooh, so it was a risk worth taking.

(Incidentally, another Bob Mitch-ism, often cited when a late night party is getting out of hand, is: “He who hoots with the owls can’t hunt with the larks” – but this one has been proved wrong so many times as to be deemed invalid.)

On our little sojourn we came across the last remains of the bluebells, and I did my best to capture their fading blueness against the overwhelming green of the groundcover. I was advised to visit Shrawley Woods as soon as possible, where the show of bluebells has been particularly wonderful, so maybe I will squeeze that in to my busy, busy working week. Anyway, must go – it’s time for my pedicure. Life is hard.

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