Dry April; cold, wet May, have held back thoughts of summer. Nature compensates with the arrival of sunshine, of the twenties. New life is unveiled. Donkey foals, a small copper, a broad boddied chaser. Plant roots, still sitting in May's sump, throw out flowers, bursting in all colours. Second broods are replacing earlier failures. The air is full of cries.
I'd lounge on the lawn, but the noise of the grass growing is too loud. It's time for planting, for weeding; loam under the nails and scratched knuckles.
