In the leafy cover of Willow Holt, the sharply pointed white stars of wild garlic flowers are currently the most prominent flora, with the stems of red campion rising to tower amongst these blooms. But further round the river, yellow is the colour that dominates, and it is not oilseed rape either.
The buttercup meadows have come into flower.
On a sunny day, there can be few finer sights than these wonderful golden fields, a warmer gold than the harsh yellow of oilseed rape and without the cloying smell. To run alongside these meadows, bordered by the river along which small tortoiseshells, peacocks and orange tips flitter and flutter, is a joy.
Soon the damselflies - the common blue and metallically glinting banded demoiselle will join them in the air, but none in sight here yet. In winter owls patrol the hedgelines as the early dusks settle in, but on a day like this, Hedwig and his friends are staying well out of sight.
The sun casts crisp shadows on the paths, and a gentle breeze blows me home.
|The fields are softly aglow|
|Buttercups into the distance|
|Female orange tip fail|
|Spot the two cormorants. Blowed if I can.|