It’s still warming up, but the mornings start sooner, days are longer, and the tadpoles and spring are both wriggling into life
The priory blackbirds are calling, an urgent dawn chorus, no longer one eager male but a full spring choir. Downstairs, seed is stirring, too. Flower and vegetable packets and sacks, speaking to me of urgency. There is a break in the rain, a break in the day (it is still not 6.30am). Memories are moving, warmed by imminent spring. I need to see the allotment. I am going away for a few days for my Danish mother-in-law’s milestone birthday. I need to seek the plot’s permission (odd as this may sound), or at least stop by as if to visit an old friend. I come bearing gifts, companion calendula, in a shade of orange by which all others are judged.
Early spring is bringing longer days, more time for trips before and after work. Today I’ll be back before 8am, armed with warm croissants and crusty bread. Hampstead’s trees are blossoming, crocus and daffodils are out, the site is alive with song. Parakeets screech as they pass overhead, en route from their evening perch at Kew to the heath. The robin joins me on the path.
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