In our field the Hawthorn trees are heavy and drooping with fragrant drifts of tiny white flowers,
reaching towards a cooling sky, drifts of clouds after a scorching week.
Under the trees at the top of the field a snowy carpet of cow parsley frames our resting place.
An avenue of silver birches and more cow parsley. The Moomin calls them marry flowers :)
A fairy gathering place, maybe even a Mad Hatters Tea Party!
I climbed the huge goat willow and looked back towards the ponies, the chickens and our magical haven.
The opposite end of the field holds our small wood supply, for crafting, turning and painting.
The lower wood, small but full of potential and on a good year a decent crop of sloe berries :)
A little Unicorn ;)