After an overcast day with brief flashes of sun, another light sprinkle of rain has fallen, greasing the pavements and releasing the odours of damp spring. The thickening crowns of the overhanging trees shade pools of dryness and clinging clouds of perfume from blossoms.
The sky is patched, grey tones of Mrs Havisham's gown with a hint of wrinkled cream silk to the South; not threatening more rain yet, but warning of coming darkness. The people I see about are relaxed, in couples or cycling with smiles. Members of the thrush family call, but fall short of song. On my return path I meet the jackdaw flock again, going the other way.
Eleven boxes of cuttings, including all of the proud dandelions, left just grass, moss and an occasional daisy and speedwell. My lawn has been busy since being cut a week since. Jackdaws and starlings decorate it and blackbirds squabble. A brooding robin visits, neatly picking off insects from the low apple boughs, chiffchaffs inspected all the lentern rose blooms thoroughly. I saw today, flapping and turning above the hill between Romsey and Forest, red kite; first of the year.
First brimstone was a couple of weeks ago, but I saw a smaller pale butterfly several times before that - orange tip perhaps? Two large and dark butterflies overflew the boat at the weekend, probably peacock.
The time of the horse chestnut approaches. Their canopies are near full and fresh green; candles set, but not quite lit yet.
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