But now the purple and white avenues of crocuses are gone, a few wretched specimens remain defiantly amongst the daffodils now dominant. The snowdrops and aconite are long over; squill and primrose are now the blankets on the resting places of the dead.
|The hyacinth, a pretty flower with a tough looking stem|
|Squill amidst the daffodils|
I then cut across the Hawtonville Estate to Sconce and Devon Park, where I walked quietly through the oak wood by the river, looking at chaffinches and blue tits high up in the trees, and listening to the loud and repetitive "dee-doo" call of great tits. I then crossed to the other side of the park, and as I walked past the Sconce earthwork, I was delighted to hear a chiff chaff singing somewhere in the hedgerow bordering the allotments. As I entered Hawton Holt, another started up, but as the Park Ranger told me, you have no chance of ever seeing one. Far too shy.
These are the first chiff chaffs I've ever heard in Sconce Park, the ranger told me they've been singing there for a few days now. It was a pleasant end to my walk, especially with a warming cup of tea in Rumbles to cap it all off.
|The screen in Hawton Holt|