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A twittering troupe of acrobats A twittering troupe of acrobats
(6 months later)
It is early morning. Birds are singing. The air is chilly but the sun is bright. I pause to watch a wren darting between the stones of a wall. Then continue walking along Primrose Avenue, a hotchpotch of bungalows and houses, with parents taking children to school. I turn to stroll through a conservation area, a stretch of woodland, the Haslington Trail. Beyond the hawthorn hedge and brambles, there are misty-green fields dotted with mole hills and sheep. Dandelions bold as brass and celandines, glossy heart-shaped leaves, shiny bright-yellow flowers, embroider the well trodden path. There are buttercups, daisies too, small and bright as stars.It is early morning. Birds are singing. The air is chilly but the sun is bright. I pause to watch a wren darting between the stones of a wall. Then continue walking along Primrose Avenue, a hotchpotch of bungalows and houses, with parents taking children to school. I turn to stroll through a conservation area, a stretch of woodland, the Haslington Trail. Beyond the hawthorn hedge and brambles, there are misty-green fields dotted with mole hills and sheep. Dandelions bold as brass and celandines, glossy heart-shaped leaves, shiny bright-yellow flowers, embroider the well trodden path. There are buttercups, daisies too, small and bright as stars.
There is a smell of damp earth and green shoots. Raindrops glitter in the grass like glass beads. Last night there had been another deluge. This morning the sky flares salmon-pink and honeycomb-gold with a patch of midnight blue over the white poplar tree. The poplar has pale bark, though the trunk, low down, is patterned with black diamond shapes.There is a smell of damp earth and green shoots. Raindrops glitter in the grass like glass beads. Last night there had been another deluge. This morning the sky flares salmon-pink and honeycomb-gold with a patch of midnight blue over the white poplar tree. The poplar has pale bark, though the trunk, low down, is patterned with black diamond shapes.
Related: In the bleak midwinter
There is twittering and trilling and I hear a small boy say: “Dad, what are they?” I stop and look up to where he is pointing. One, two, three, and more, an excitable flock, gather in a leafless tree, gossiping gregariously: black-white-grey-pink, tails longer than their bodies, flitting between the branches, chasing one another, tumbling and somersaulting, clinging upside down to twigs. “They look like flying teaspoons,” I say. The small boy laughs. His little sister wriggles in her buggy. “They are called long tailed tits.” Dad smiles: “Come on, we’ll be late for school.” I nod, step aside to let them pass.There is twittering and trilling and I hear a small boy say: “Dad, what are they?” I stop and look up to where he is pointing. One, two, three, and more, an excitable flock, gather in a leafless tree, gossiping gregariously: black-white-grey-pink, tails longer than their bodies, flitting between the branches, chasing one another, tumbling and somersaulting, clinging upside down to twigs. “They look like flying teaspoons,” I say. The small boy laughs. His little sister wriggles in her buggy. “They are called long tailed tits.” Dad smiles: “Come on, we’ll be late for school.” I nod, step aside to let them pass.
Walking beside Fowle Brook, a muscle of water, bulging and flexing, I see what I’ve come looking for. The banks are eroding, but there they are, one of Britain’s best-loved flowers. I take a moment to breathe in the sweet scent of primroses, Primula vulgaris.Walking beside Fowle Brook, a muscle of water, bulging and flexing, I see what I’ve come looking for. The banks are eroding, but there they are, one of Britain’s best-loved flowers. I take a moment to breathe in the sweet scent of primroses, Primula vulgaris.
There are only a few clumps: dainty lemon petals with egg-yolk yellow centres, fresh-green rosette of leaves. Yet, I delight in these drops of sunshine, thinking that, once upon a time, before the houses were built, they must have grown in profusion here.There are only a few clumps: dainty lemon petals with egg-yolk yellow centres, fresh-green rosette of leaves. Yet, I delight in these drops of sunshine, thinking that, once upon a time, before the houses were built, they must have grown in profusion here.