The Warden

As the sun illuminated its ancient woodland seat, Thimbleweed opened wide to enjoy a wave of springtime warmth. It savoured the scents of birch and sandalwood drifting on a gentle breeze and listened to a blackbird serenade the woodland. What harm could a few moments of indulgence do? it thought, but a lull in the air halted its musings. The birdsong cut abruptly. Rustling leaves stilled. The interlude of calmness faded as Thimbleweed, ever-so-slowly turned toward the hollow.

This wood anemone, supposedly a sheltering place of fairies from rain, was standing tall and proud in the sun, contrasting with the dark void behind it, a moss lined opening to somewhere below or beyond the hedgerow? However, the question foremost in my mind was, is this flower guarding an entrance or an exit?