The day was deliciously warm. Spring sunshine brought colour and life back to the landscape. Nobody spoke, for the pleasure of heat on hands and faces was recognised by all and we were content for a moment to enjoy it. The fogs and searching winds of winter were now a thing of the past and the dogs, normally so busy and excited at the start of a day, yawned and stretched in the dusty yard, their noses testing the scented air.
“Any pigeon about?” I asked hopefully. The farmer took off his cap, scratched his head thoughtfully and replied: “They’ve not started on my wheat yet, but I saw a cloud rise from behind that bottom spinney; my neighbour’s probably drilled some beans there.”
It would have been a long, hard slog down to the spinney loaded with all our gear, but fortunately for us our farmer friend insisted we take a tractor and trailer. We thanked him for his help and information and were soon bouncing and bumping towards the distant spinney.
How the place had changed since our last visit. The sycamores still swayed and rattled high above our heads, but elsewhere in the wood things were beginning to stir. Bluebells burst through the leaf mould and carpeted the floor with their shiny greenery and the straggling hawthorns peeped with the freshest of tiny leaves. Fat sticky buds cracked open on the horse chestnuts and soon their delicate leaves and white candles would appear, decorating the black bark.
Main flock
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