Anyway, at the moment – the moment being early summer – it’s too late for the early oilseed blooming, too early for the cereal harvest, and much too early for the ploughing and muck spreading. So the colour green predominates completely, which is fine by me. And it will all change soon because everything does.
And now for another recap.
I’ve mentioned several times that the number of migrant birds has been diminishing over the past few years. Well, it’s getting worse. I go for a walk nearly every day (surgeon’s recommendation, you understand), and over the past few weeks I’ve seen a swallow on only about one occasion in three. And I do mean a swallow – a single bird hunting alone over a field. The old adage one swallow does not a summer make refers to the false presumption that summer has arrived on seeing the first swallow in late April or early May. But it’s now nearly the end of June, so where are the flocks of maybe 15-20 birds which used to treat us to the spectacle of power, grace, and speed and bestow one of summer’s primary delights? Where are this year’s young? Are there none? Seeing a lone swallow repeatedly is a sad sight indeed. And their cousins, the house martins, have been conspicuous by their total absence so far this year. I assume it’s all due to climate change, but who can tell?
And now I’m desperately trying to think of a way to wrap up this post, but my imagination has fallen asleep. Maybe I should mention that my new lady friend, the lovely young blackbird, now has a name. She’s called Henrietta. I told her that she looked like a Henrietta and she didn’t disagree, so I must have got it right in one.
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