Cherry on Top

This afternoon was nigh-on perfect.

I finished work just after lunchtime, and tootled on down the Eden valley, ending up calling in at Acorn Bank, and National Trust gardens and woodland down by the river.

I had tea, and wandered down through the sunken garden and into the woodland. Every little freeze-frame of the afternoon was like a delicious cake, not only covered in delectable icing, but decorated with a sweet, succulent cherry on top, too.

The pond was not just an ornamental pool in a calming garden. It harboured all three species of English newt, all dancing their wildly sensual flamenco that is their courting dance.

Yes, folks. Newts are sexy. Don't even stop to question it - I have said so.

The woodland bank was alive with flowers. Spangled with daffodils. And not just any daffodil. These were the native, wild daffodil, with its bashful, nodding head, and star-like petals. Put these next to your common or garden daff and they look like a debutante next to a tart.

Sunlight slipped through bare branches of trees holding their breath for the moment of buds bursting. It illuminated patches of demure, secretive dog's mercury, that darkly green and glossy herald of ancient woodland. And there, on one sleek leaf rested a ladybird, like a ruby solitaire on a bed of emeralds.

See? Icing. Cherries.

Told you so.

(And newts are sexy)