The spring is sprung, the grass is riz.
I wonder where da boidie is.
They say da boidie’s on the wing.
But that’s absoid. The wing is on the bird.
Isn’t Spring so full of events that are hoped for but feel so wonderfully unexpected when they suddenly happen? Yesterday at lunch time there were no Spring migrants to be seen. At tea time the skies above the sewage works at Cockermouth were whirling with dozens of house martins and some swallows. A first vibrant Chiff chaff excelled itself in the willows at Great Clifton and garden warblers had been heard elsewhere.
A week ago there were no flowers poking their heads up out of the cold earth – now this bright stampede of coltsfoot is sending up blossom well before its leaves.
And on the marsh the third osprey seen picking up sticks for itself! (whilst KL and Unring weren’t looking)