It's that time of year again ... when the woods are heady with the scent of wild garlic.
They set out with their garlic loving friends. The sky full of promise, cloudless and clear. But as they drove, that fickle sky, it changed it's mood, blackening and deepening. An unreliable friend.
Rain fell heavy and cold. They collected just a handful of leaves. Enough to add to their salad and for some buttery garlic toast. They will come back for more on a brighter day. When the sun shakes their hand and keeps its promise.
They need more soon before the little white flowers add bitterness to the bite.
They moved further north, leaving the sky to glower alone. To a place where the sky was softly bruised but left them dry. In Arcadia the children played. On golden quarry walls laughter echoed and bounced.
The following afternoon they ventured out again, just the family of three.
From the little town of Ilminster, they climbed high above the chimneys. A view that apparently allows a view of thirty near and distant churches. Hampered by low mists they counted just three!
The sweetest little lodge house
Along a scented lane, opening out on to the grounds of the hauntingly imposing Dillington House ...
Through the parkland and along the lengthy avenue to the rear of the house ...
Amazing bark art
Hobbit house ...
Crossing the road to follow a wooded footpath ...
Neglected shelters. Forgotten barns.
A tranquil lake. Heron, duck, moorhen and pheasant.
They will return for an evening picnic one warm summer's night.
They hope to return for an evening picnic one warm summer's night.