Last Wednesday, the 11th of May, I ate the first wild strawberry from the front garden. A taste of summer in what is supposed to still be spring. A dry spring it has been; a day of rain since I last wrote.
Foals are blooming in the hedgerows. Two weeks ago, on the scenic route to work, I saw a total of four foals. I can see as many in the first two miles now. The mares are grateful for the relief, the weight off their legs, still patient to let the new life suckle. The foals are in that flaky phase of existence, as likely horizontal as standing and feeding. They stay close, unready yet to threaten passing cars.
I had a slightly frantic walk on Friday evening, on my way to collect the boys from their evening out. I left myself a little too short a time to walk a circuit on my way there. Across the green and thence into the thin strip of woodland that follows the Western boundary hedge. I saw deer, I got within a tree's length of a cuckoo (I must have heard a round half-dozen calling on my way). I passed a field of 50 rabbits and then, following its side hedge, saw a fox duck through the wire part way up. After four miles, I arrived home with sons, having paused only for an ad-hoc game of blind-mans-buff, in just over the hour.
Over the weekend, in our garden, I sawed fallen hawthorn. Eldest child found a slowworm, youngest thinks he was buzzed by a rose chafer. I saw the first holly-blue of the season. On the drive, the cotoneaster is feeding the new crop of bumble-bees.
