Spring (Again)

March 29th 2019

Cock robin he got a neat tippet at spring.....

And he whistled a ballad as loud as he could

And built him a nest of oak leaves by the wood

It's a beautiful day, despite the fact that this was supposed to be the day the UK severed its links with the EU.....  

In the untainted blue sky a fresh young kite sails loftily, spying for worms and other tiny morsels....

At the other end of the spectrum a blue tit rummages amongst the pussy willow,

And a coal tit hangs upside down while he seeks an early aphid or such.....

I take Amanda for a walk around the Ayots, deep Hertfordshire in Spring.  Everywhere life is busy renewing itself.  There is a sense of sap rising, of buds swelling.  I love the sheen that is detectable above the scribbled frame of a sturdy oak, that gleam of life just discernible at twig-tip....

Nearby a great willow almost sprays us with its joyful weeping....

Catkins fall, their freshness so good you want to eat them dusted with icing sugar and maybe just resting lightly on meringue and a drift of cream....

Buds burst, the young green leaves growing stronger by the minute, the epitome of Easter Rising....

And blossoms explode from blackthorn and cherry, spring's fusilladoes fired (as Charles Causley commemorated Keats at Teignmouth)....

The ground is bright with celandine, and I find my second bluebell, then another.....

The sweet spring now is come'ng

In beautiful sunshine

Thorns bud and wild flowers blooming

Daisey and Celadine

Something so sweet there is about the spring....

John Clare was an extraordinary man, and a brilliant poet, at his best.  

On some occasions, however, perhaps his love of nature was stronger than his literary skill....

How beautiful is spring! the sun gleams gold,

Reflecting like a mirror, burnished ever;....

- the true believer

Sees flowers in bloom and hears the woodlands ring,

With joys awake: - how beautiful is spring! -

I get the point.  But it is a bit Fotherington-Tomas (you kno he sa Hullo clouds Hullo sky he is a girlie and love the scents and sounds of nature tho the less i smell and hear them the better.)

Thank you Nigel Molesworth, who claims that Peotry is sissy stuff that rhymes.  (Weedy people say la and fie and swoon when they see a bunch of daffodils....)

As it is, I note a buzzard returning to her nest.....

And then I hear the unmistakable sound of a tiny Chiff Chaff, just crashing in to land above my head....

And then I see a Brimstone, flitting just beyond my lens.... but then a Comma tires and rests awhile on a board fence in the sun, immobile while I steal his precious time, his punctuation brief.....

All token spring and every day

Green and more green hedges and close

And every where appears

Still tis but March

But still that March is Spring

 And the robin still trills his warning song....

And the kite still haunts us overhead.....

Fields meadows woods and pastures

Theres spring in every place

From winters wild disasters

All wear her happy face

Beast on their feet and birds upon the wing

The very clouds upon the sky look spring

(But we are not out of the woods yet....)

[Peotry (sic) by John Clare, 1793 - 1864]