Paint it black

Spring is coming on in leaps and bounds now (the term 'springing to life' is a wonderful, optimisctic idiom I think).

Where I walked today there are now fresh, green beech leaves bursting open. Only four days ago they were tightly closed.

I heard a woodpecker, hammering away at a tree; beautiful plumage, black, white spots, a flash of red tail feathers and a matching red 'cap' on his head. Yesterday a peacock butterfly fluttered across my path. I counted at least twenty frogs and toads in the large pond in the middle of the forest.

A glorious time of year.

In the centre of the woods an art class was taking place. I sidled up to one of the ladies, and watched her drawing a path I've walked/cycled along many a time.

I asked if I could photograph her hands; a kind of slow-motion action snap.
Of course I could, she said, but immediately excused her hands because they were dirty.
I said she wouldn't have been the true artist without them.

She certainly did that path justice.