Snapshots of Spring.

So immersed have I been in work, putting those hours in so that I can afford to eat more than baked potatoes after the bills and taxman have had their way with me, that Spring has arrived and begun to morph the landscape around me almost without me noticing. I have had a two week period of working a 12 hour shift, coming home to eat and sleep and then going off for another 12 hour shift. The only ritual that I have looked forward to, especially when doing nightshifts, is coming home in the morning, fixing myself a last coffee and then briefly wandering into the garden for ten minutes. It is this brief period each day that has given me a kind of snapshot view of Spring this year.

This short foray into the garden has allowed me to appreciate how many birds are now singing, stating their intentions and reinforcing territories. Blackbirds, Robins, Song Thrush, Great Tits, Dunnock, Blue tits - all have contributed to a medley which should be discordant, with each song superimposed over another, vying for airspace, notes tripping and stuttering into each other . But the mass of birdsong isn't chaotic or cacophonic, it is rather beautiful. As I stand and listen, I can choose to hear it all as one avian chorus and just let it flood over me, or I sometimes pick out one particular species song, one individual bird. I focus on it, appreciating the rise and fall of it's challenge, seeking it out visually and watching the Blackbird standing on my rooftop or the Great Tit swaying lazily in the branches of a Silver Birch. I came home from work yesterday and, as usual, made my way into my back garden with a mug of coffee welded into my hand. I immediately identified with pleasure the achingly nostalgic sound of an early Skylark. I have agricultural fields outside the front of my place and it was from here that the Skylark had launched itself upwards, before paragliding down in full song. Instinctively, I searched the sky, trying to find the owner of this sweet voice against the grey slate of clouds. No luck. The Skylark remained invisible, a disembodied summer voice, the sound of which somehow always makes me a little sad. I think this is because I am aware of how much rarer this song is becoming over British fields. It is a tangible voice of change and each song I hear makes me wonder whether it will be for the last time.

Be that as it may, there has been plenty to make me smile during these Snapshots of Spring. Two days ago, I watched a Song Thrush hacking energetically at my pile of rotting logs. What on Earth? She appeared to be cramming her beak with something she was getting from the log and it was a moment before I realised that she was collecting the wet, pulpy mass of rotting wood from inside the Oak log. she flew off with a Scooby-Doo sandwich-sized amount, no doubt to use in nest building (or lining?). The female Blackbird has regularly used my garden to collect dead grasses. I guess home-making is well and truly underway. I have been extremely lucky lately with the new species of birds I am having visit my garden or vicinity. A couple of weeks ago, I was almost certain that I had seen a Peregrine Falcon pass overhead. This happened again the other day and I was delighted when my landlady (who knows her onions in such matters) confirmed that she had seen this bird on a couple of occasions, too. I didn't add it to my 'garden visitor' list on my own 80% certainty, but was happy to after another person, more knowledgable than I, agreed with me that we are being visited by a Peregrine. Of course, I was cock-a-hoop. This was followed by the new and regular appearance of a Stock Dove, who seems to have taken a shine to my lawn. Another first for my garden. To cap it off a day or so later, two Reed Buntings visited on a couple of consecutive days, gobbling peanuts with admirable gusto. This new species brought my 'list of joy' up to 43 species in just under two years. I've never lived in such a bountiful place. If I saw a Bullfinch now, I could die happy. Or happyish. I am, after all, only 43.

As far as my garden goes (grows?) I am still awaiting the appearance of seedlings after my endeavours with spade and rake. This is another ritual I have done each morning which has probably resulted in my neighbours twitching their curtains, gossiping in hushed whispers and making sure their doors are locked at night. I stroll out into the garden as if I am not at all interested in my seeded area. I sip my coffee and stare out over the Wye river and the fields and hills beyond, perhaps whistling a nonsense tune to prove that I haven't any intent on my mind. Nethertheless, I begin to edge stealthily towards the seeded area and then suddenly swoop, settling on my haunches and scanning the area with concerned eyes, as if hoping to catch tender shoots in the act of emerging. I will stay like this for a minute or so, head sweeping back and forth as I peer at a barren stretch of mud and then I will move on a few feet and repeat the process, head down and face anxious, my coffee cooling and forgotten. Anybody watching me would be off to fetch the men in white suits, those who wave their large butterfly nets. Anyway - no sign of my seedlings yet, but it's only been 10 days or so since I put them in the ground and it has turned colder again. I do have bulbs coming through in my front lawn, though. Daffodils, Grape Hyacinth in the border, Snake's Head Fritillary (like my avatar photo - the one which everyone thinks looks like a plucked Turkey!) so some things are going well.

Finally, my landlady asked if my son was coming over this weekend (he has) because she wants to show us all the Frogs and Toads in her garden, as well as the great stew of spawn in her pond. So - Spring is gathering momentum, even if I am only a part-time observer as it strides onwards.