Spring Sprung

I mowed the lawn this week, the day before heavy rain fell in abundance. I relish such occasions when I get the timing right, as if I've got one over on the 'powers that be' instead of them doin' me dahn. They don't of course, I'm really not that paranoid. But it was also a boost because it means that spring is here, or nearly. Already the banks of the ditches are strewn with primroses, and there are daffodils growing along the verges by the roadside. But strangely my wintersweet, which flowered just before Christmas last year, only opened its petals at the end of February. Inspired by this new lease of life in the garden I've continued to make the most of the dry spells, lured by the birdsong and the sudden emergence of dazzling light from behind clouds. I pop out for a few minutes that turn into a few hours. Which is why I'm so bad at the 'before' photos that serve to encourage me: if I did that mammoth thing, then surely I can do this one too. I didn't set out to transform the rose bed yesterday, thinking only to finish pruning, but by the time I crawled indoors again it was completely clear of weeds and winter detritus. Hence no record. Hugo joined me when I agreed to open the summerhouse door for him. The light streams in here and he quickly found a warm spot. But when the sun went in he followed me around for a bit before disappearing back inside.

I watched a film on Netflix called And So It Goes, starring Diane Keaton and Michael Douglas. I found it to be absolutely charming and uplifting, the delightful Keaton recreating her Annie Hall character but older and wiser, and Douglas a curmudgeon who comes good. The story was a bit lame but the dialogue was sparkling and funny, the chemistry smouldering between them. But reviewers had slammed it for every possible reason apart from the acting quality of the two stars. How nice to be out of step with the experts. How pompous they are.

I only meant to take Hugo for a short walk after my strenuous work but the sun came out again and the wind dropped completely. I ached everywhere, and limped down the lane, the boy held tightly on the lead. Everywhere there were hares, and he could smell them and see them. He tripped along on tiptoes like a poodle, body tense, nose up, eyes alert and focussed. I reminded him firmly again and again that he was going nowhere. After a few hundred yards my body eased out and the stiffness began to go, so it turned into a much longer walk instead. We watched a barn owl circle the field, remembering just a few weeks ago when it flew so close we could practically touch it. The hedges were alive with little songbirds flitting around. I thought my heart would burst. But suddenly it was cold and a chill wind ruffled my hair. I steered the straining dog homewards, and we got back just in time to watch the western sky burst into colour that spread in a wide lurid arc. Pure magic.