February 16th 2013
With this the third successive day of milder temperatures the land around home is becoming relatively frost-free at last.
On the higher ground large bulks of snow remain in all the depressions like abandoned giant jigsaw pieces, monochrome and unfashionable, but stark reminders of the possibility of more of it’s kind before the inevitable warmth erases all trace of it’s once unbroken blanket.
The patient grey heron hunts with elegant intent in the marshy margins of the Tarn indicating to me that perhaps some of the braver amphibians have started to stir from their Winter bolt holes, making a move, with designs on being first to the annual orgy in the, once again liquid, mass spawning grounds.
Nearby the beautiful soul-stirring cries of a pair of Buzzards, vocalising in the stand of mature Pine trees, where I can witness to there being a nest for the last 25 years at least , suggest their reproductive plan for yet another year is well under way. And the sight and sound of two majestic Swans flying low across the light grey sky adds a sharp nostalgic surge to the experience and causes temporary sensory overload.
I can’t wait to hear the whelp of curlews skirl across the sweet, green land once more, and to know that Spring is here.
But it’s early days, still, I am content ( and excited) in the knowledge that that day will soon be here.