They don’t come along often. And they come with rare sightings. A sky almost bereft of cloud was a good start. Then the postie drove on by. Chained to the desk I was not to be. The law of sod being what it is though, this rare day for a hurl round the lanes, after greasing the chain and pumping the tyres, is stymied. Being of a certain age that knee injury is taking too long, despite the ice packs and the TLC. But a low gear hill climb is most definitely not going to happen, not today.
So confined to base for a while, with time to spare, I began to look and to listen. Spring has finally arrived. The gentle drone of the bee carries on a breeze too gentle to rustle the dead leaves of the beech. And budding and greenery seem anxious to thrust themselves on us. Sod it, that means the mower will be wanting out to play too. Maybe next week.
Further afield the upper slopes of Side Hill have been harvested of timber; and instead they will harness the wind, for a new plantation is taking shape.
Most of the daffies are enjoying the sun, a few late ones still to appear, and a few earlies on the wane.
But the browsing sheep have taken their toll, and the early frosts are having a laugh with the outliers.
Hedging too is showing signs of life, with both the maple and the hawthorn greening from the lower branches, rising ever upwards. The red stems of the dogwood have had their annual shearing, ready to rise once more.
Even the goals have been sprouting.
But what caught my eye, had me scurrying for the books, was a bird, hopping from the fence, filling his beak with bedding from the field, and flitting away to who knows where. I didn’t recognise him, a stranger to the garden; a new one on me. Amber Status says the RSPB. But he was bright and colourful, distinctive. I’ll watch out for the wheatear again, might even recognise him.
No sign yet of the house martins, though there were few of them last year. It’s still early yet. Last Friday in April they usually appear.
An hour or two on the bike would be good. One day. But you know as well as I, that once the knee is sound, so the weather or the workload, probably both, will see me stymied again. But it is a beautiful day. I’m off outside with a good book, and a bowl of very good soup. What’s not to like?
Rhubarb, this can’t be the best time of year do what I’ve been meaning for a long time; to move it from under the shade of a conifer that has suddenly become huge, depriving it of sun and rain. But there it is, popping up again. It really does need a new home. Maybe next year.
PS and there’s the wheatear back again – perhaps he’s going to hang around. Here he is, left click to zoom in – he really is a beauty.