There have been a few false dawns; the solstice has been and gone. But those signs of spring are turning slowly into summertime. It has been the finest of mornings, still and calm under a sky unblemished in the early hours. There is blossom, and flower buds opening all around. Wee beasties are feeding. And above the skylarks are in full song.
It is a rare day; one to be savoured. Sadly the wheels won’t be turning, time being precious amongst other commitments, but The Grasshopper will be out again soon. That was the plan but the school holidays are upon us, little over 24 hours away. Where has the year gone?
In the fields outside the buttercups are dancing, caressed by the slightest movement in the air. It is a yellow year. And the laburnum is joining in, at last.
Poppies are beginning to appear.
Soon the wild geraniums will provide a purple carpet, and a feast for the bees. The first flower has just opened.
But for now the bees are content with the cornflowers.
Whilst the slugs prefer the white ones.
These are the nights when I have to stay up late, if only to wait until the chickens are abed, ready to be locked up. I was reading, by natural light, well before four of the clock, and heard them again, calling to be let loose. They had to wait. The dark hours are short.
I wandered the garden listening to the songs all around. There is a copy of Simon Barnes’ Bird Watching With Your Eyes Closed by the desk. And more work to be done. I know the skylark, heard but not seen, but between him and the chickens it is all just song. Delightful yes, but one day I’ll see them all, with my eyes closed.
The sun and the blue and the yellow may not last. The petals could be ripped from the stems by the end of the week. But we’ll enjoy it all today. The end of the week, that’s another story…