Each flower-tipped, terminal twig now sports a stand of miniature, pale green folded leaves, on the custard maple. I've observed it closely these past two weeks as the flush of blooms has swept over it, only surpassed by leaves this morning as the weather balmed and calmed.
Further on, curled and fluffed, the first foal lay, too shy yet to greet me. Its mother seemed a little unfussed, munching a few yards distant with her friend. I went back this afternoon to see the foal standing, all knees and nose.
The warmth resolved later to rumble in the Solent, but too distant to shock us.
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