DUDLEY IS COMING

On a grey dank day like today one's mind drifts to those we have lost - so a thought and a prayer for Nell Fox who has slipped away and left us. 

Song thrush singing, robin singing, rain falling, garden stirring, Q would have a fit at the -ings. Not much down in the garden - R picked up some sticks. I worry at the growing bonfire heaps - will not light as too wet but the birds will be looking to nest in them soon. Do I leave them cluttering the place up till the autumn before burning?

We walk - 

hazel catkins and a roadkill of a fabulous but sometimes stupid cock pheasant. He is all bravado whilst the hens trundle about in the undergrowth and under the bird feeders.

We have loads of snowdrops - here planted under the greengage.

The first chives are through and we have a first, albeit tatty, hellebore flower.

And then in the house the Christmas Amaryllis we were given have burst into scarlet glory.

And then it rains and the air is waterlogged so I use the excuse to stay off the garden. And if that is not enough Storm Dudley is on his/its way - who thinks up these names? Storm Rory (and the Hurricanes) or Billy (Fury) or Marty (Wilde) or Duffy (Power) are better ?

The stream is full - on the left the stream is coming in from the bottom, a new spring on the top.

There is still colour in the garden - the old beech leaves or new day lily shoots (2 kinds).

And still the snowdrops flower, more than we have ever had in the past.

I am reading a book R gave to me - Tales of a Country Parish by Colin Heber-Percy. I am not a church goer and some might find that side of what he says a bit heavy but the other observations of life during Coronavirus are fascinating.