Originally published in the Manchester Guardian on 21 April 1917
Surrey, April 19
The bush harrow has been at work in the meadows, and light rain, dewing the grass tops, glistens even under the clouds along broad green paths which extend from end to end of the field. The blackbirds have been very active these past few days, scurrying noisily about the hedges and piping in regular notes up among the trees. There is a nest in a hollow of the hedge bottom, built where a thorn begins to branch out from the roots, plastered inside as if with a delicate tool and then lined with tops of dead grasses and a few driblets of wool which have clung to the hedge as the down sheep have straggled about near the thorns. Buds have begun to take the shape of leaves. There is just a glimpse of new colour along the top of the distant wood; a momentary glint of sun gives the impression and no more of pale golden green, which dies as the sky leadens again. Underfoot the most notable thing is the growth of small clover. Stalks have lengthened and leaves broadened out well above the ground.
One of our rivers, which takes a very winding course down to the Thames, runs through a thicket of willows, with older trees pollarded along each bank. This evening, when the clouds dispersed, a pair of kingfishers chased under the yet bare branches, going at regular intervals and returning, not together but one after the other in the same way. There is more life in the water and more insects were playing below the still boughs. A warbler was singing – just a few notes, and then a long silence before he broke it again.
Continue reading…
Source: Guardian Climate Change