During my early childhood years our family lived in a rural area of Oxfordshire. We were surrounded by small farms with livestock and grain fields. Wooded areas and copses were abundant.  Groves of oaks, elms, and horse chestnut trees were scattered around the countryside. Gnarled weeping willows lined the banks of trickling streams and small ponds fed by the frequent drizzle, so typical of England. Everything was lush and green.

Growing up in that untamed environment was magical. My friends and I would immerse ourselves in the beauty of nature for hours after school and on weekends. We marveled at beautiful treasures hidden in every hedgerow, thicket, field and stream.

We were never bored. There was so much to see and do; from catching tadpoles, to discovering bird nests, to climbing willow trees, to collecting wild flowers, to searching for the biggest conkers. It was a time of innocence—enchanting and carefree. I learned wonderment. The beauty of small miracles that feed the soul.  Continue reading →