WHAT'S EVERYTHING DOING?

Clearly, I can't answer that properly! But I can note a few things - and I have to scurry between the house and the bank (the grassy variety) to keep up. For what's happening is happening fast.

Not that this pigeon sitting on a wonky post with its back to the sea is doing much at present. Unlike urban pigeons, and despite being great eaters, wood pigeons never seem to be in a rush.

It is, of course, an eagle in disguise.

What is the blackthorn doing?

It's sprouting flower buds along its thorns.

This, it seems to me, is an odd place for them. I don't mean there's anything unusual about what this small tree is doing. It's just that I think it's a surprising arrangement - flowers on thorns instead of beside them.

In February, on my other blog (Message in a Milk Bottle) a couple of people mentioned that they are unfamiliar with gorse. And the question came up whether gorse is always in flower. I can't answer definitively but I'd be surprised if there were any times in the year where some gorse isn't flowering somewhere. 

In the winter one notices it because its splashes of bright yellow stand out from the gloom. In the last couple of weeks, though, more and more branches have been spurting colour. In the summer, there will be great banks of it round here. I'll give it a post of its own.

What is the hawthorn doing?

Its leaf buds are opening. When they are new, hawthorn leaves are delightful; a delicate fresh green. Later, they darken and the trees become a bit blobbish.

I'm not a bird person. If I can't see who's singing, I don't necessarily know who it is. I can't tell an invisible dunnock from a lark. I guess by the landscape. Bushes - dunnocks. Flat, open land - larks. But, over and over, through the years, I've heard a wonderful song and looked around to see who . . . and it's a robin. And Robins are not shy. They sit somewhere prominent and let rip!

I wasn't the only one who stopped for the performance.

Perhaps we should have clapped during this pause?

Real bird-watchers are quiet people. Those of us who don't know one feather from another stand and chat. The funniest gathering of strangers is when field fares fill a bush and start yelling at each other. You can hardly see them but the bush almost vibrates with noise. One waits for it to explode. Passers-by pause and gaze at it in astonishment. And laugh.

And, just beginning, here and there, the big gold coins of dandelion flowers.

The sky is blue, the birds are singing, buds are opening, flowers are flowering (at least, some of them are!) all we need now is leaves . . . and we are away. Boring, isn't it? Happens every year. All the same. All very predictable. Ah, well, I suppose we'll just have to put up with it. (Expect we'll manage!)

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