Cycling back from Bigtown yesterday (category: lunch (& also plotting but that doesn’t seem to have an Errandoneering category), distance: 16 miles, observation: “where did that bastard headwind come from all of a sudden?”) I was struck by the way the trees have reached the point where they are almost-but-not-quite in leaf, giving everything a faint wash of colour, like the promise of something.
And the landlords’ hens have resumed their visits to our garden – here they are inspecting my work on the flowerbeds. I hope they have the same appetite for slugs as their predecessors.
Plus the lambs have gone from unphotographable dots in the distance to just-about photographable fuzzballs on springs, if you excuse my camera phone’s excuse for a ‘zoom’. (Sure they look cute, but that one on the right went on to sexually harass his brother/sister all around the field (well, I’m guessing it’s a ‘he’))
Someone remind me how this horticultural therapy for stress relief is supposed to work again?