Don't tell next door's cat - but in that corner over there, about 4 metres away from now and cradled by the thorny 'Albéric Barbier' is a hand's-palm-nest of grass, soft stuff and magic. It holds four eggs of clearest blue, the size of tiny. How wonderful is that?
Above this little nest and about 2 hand spans away a robin has hauled bedding and other household bird-goods into a box and set up home as well. A comfort zone of hair, moss, roots and fine feathers. There may be eggs there too.
Swallows, just in from Africa, hang out on the wire across the yard and take two-three days to gulp in where they are. I wish they'd choose to make our barn their home but no, I guess it's not to be. The old silo over the garden wall - which we dearly wish would be carted away - proves too enticing, and this evening they are seen making investigative swoops into its dark and cool interior.
This silo is due to go. Fate will have it that sometime in the next few days, in the hiatus between lambing and another of many other urgent farming tasks, someone will turn up with a low-loader and a purpose.
We'll look at it, our vista and the wheeling birds. We'll weigh things up. We'll have to say: 'John, leave it for now, there are swallows in there - nesting.'
To protect the innocent no photographs have been taken.
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