Just to the west of the Guild Inn there is a lovely woods. It was full of flowers and even a migrating warbler on this overcast day.
In its deep cup—grassy, cool—
Sleeps the little roadside pool;
Sleeps the butterfly on the weed,
Sleeps the drifted thistle-seed.
Like a great and blazing gem,
Basks the beetle on the stem.
Up and down the shining rays
Dancing midges weave their maze. – Charlies G.D. Roberts (1860–1943)