The woodland was so wet and looked so down trodden after Christmas, it needed a rest from human activity. After four weeks we meet up again beside the tool shed and reflected on the relative drying out of pathways and the sweet sound of birds constantly singing. The wood is full of light, the floor is covered in soft green moss and specks of emerald blue lichen. Everywhere are long finger shaped leaves opening in star shaped arrangements moving upwards, synchronising, preparing to send up a single stem of blue bell flowers. The scent of the wood, after the snow and ice had melted away from the rotting leaves, was musty leather