Bluebells are a mythical kind of flower to me. They seemed to feature heavily in the very old-fashioned children’s stories and poems we read (or had read to us), and I always imagined them much larger, and more sky blue than they actually are. I like them better this way, delicate and subtle
Here in England they’re a protected species, and bluebell woods are highly prized locations to visit. This isn’t one of them, it’s a neighbour’s front garden (that’s the lid of city of Preston recycling box you see there in the bottom left corner), but they’re still lovely.