Recently we have had a few rainy days and the mornings were misty. I have, therefore, been a the little late feeding our visitors with whom we share our garden. I was not talking about the bees for once, but the birds. Before Amelia and I even finish our breakfast, they gather outside our dining room hoping that I would hurry up and feed them.
Eventually, I tell Amelia, I will go and feed the birds before I have my second cup of tea.
The blue tits are my favourite – but don’t tell that to the sparrows; they might get jealous! The blue tit waits in the olive tree for her chance.
Lately we have another little visitor, but that one can not fly. He also comes to take his share of the breakfast.
Amelia is always telling me off for leaving too much seed on the ground. But honestly, it is not my fault. You might not believe that these little birds eat five kilos (over 11 pounds!) of seeds each week. If I forget they literally tap on the window or sit outside the French windows begging!
I know that this is not a brilliant picture, but the wren – another of my favourite birds – has found a little hollow in the ash tree outside the study.
Forgive me for another poor quality photo, but recently each time we have entered the so-called atelier, Amelia and I have heard more noise coming from the barn owl house. So, my curiosity got better of me and I climbed the ladder and stuck my camera rapidly in the entrance and had a quick shot. There you are. Our owl visitor has brought his girl friend to share his studio flat.
I had been warned and I withdrew my hand rapidly just as the male flew out touching my sleeve. As at that time I was not sure what picture, if any, I had managed to take, I had another sneaky shot. The female was there giving me a cold shoulder and hopefully guarding her precious eggs.
So, the bees and the birds are all getting ready for the new season. Our plum tree started to blossom just as February commenced.
I know it is too early, but often I like to walk to the bottom of our garden, beyond the beehives, in the woodland walk along the river Seudre, and I imagine that the winter is over. The river bank under the canopy of trees reminds me of Percy Bysshe Shelley:
I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way,
Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring,
And gentle odours led my steps astray,
Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring
Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay
Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling
Its green arms round the bosom of the stream,
But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream.