Spring, Maybe

With Storm Katie in the offing, promising to wipe out any Bank Holiday Monday jaunting, we scrambled to get out - no, we didn't, we loafed about for most of Easter Sunday morning eating hot cross buns, with the result that by the time we got to Ashton Court, stormy clouds were looming. 

We shivered as we ate our ice creams, looking over the city to Freezing Hill on the horizon, before setting off for the Domesday Oak.  

By the time we reached it, it was pouring icy rain. 

And the oak, oh the oak had all but met its Domesday since I last saw it, a few years ago, having fallen apart.

My eyes were as blurry as my photos.

As we left the oak, it stopped raining and the sky began to brighten again.  I was cheered by a magnificent chestnut tree. 

Another old friend - marked, rather prosaically, on the map as the Fattest Oak - seems to be doing better than its older cousin. And it does indeed have a very broad bole.

Meanwhile, something seemed to be lighting the beeches from within. Spring, maybe.