Country Mouse

Come what May

AT precisely 4.57am this morning, a blackbird broke the night’s silence with the first rendition of its liquid song. By 5am, the soloist had been joined by the entire orchestra and the magical, melodic dawn chorus began. Unlike seed eaters, blackbirds are early risers—they’re the original early bird that catches the worm. I like to be up with them, too. COUNTRY LIFE’S garden photographers also love taking pictures at the first light of dawn—everything in the world is more beautiful at that precious, ethereal time of the morning.

For me, the month of May is the epitome of Britain’s beauty: the zenith of spring. Every year, I try to spend more time simply being with it. It’s the moment, as my mother always says, that you can almost hear the plants growing. It’s the green month, the envy of all others.

This morning, as I listened to that blackbird, I realised that, if I am fortunate enough to make it to 80 years of age, I will greet only 22 more Mays— that does not seem nearly enough. Then, when writing this column, I realised that would mean almost 700 more days of May. What a treat. I am going to make the most of every single one of them.