Oh dear. What happened here? Did he drop dead from all the beauty?
Or is he doing that thing that dogs do when they come across something utterly irresistible (a piece of rotting fish, a desiccated wood vole): drop to the ground and roll around maniacally in an attempt to get it all UP IN THERE?
I'd like to think it's the latter. It's how I'm feeling, at least. Spring is here and I want to roll around in it, I want carry its scent with me wherever I go. The ancient bluebell woods are calling, and I long to see them.