Dear reader...

MARCH BRINGS WITH it the first tantalising whispers of spring. Frost is still very much a possibility, but daylight hours are slowly unfolding, and sunset will soon inch past 6pm: a milestone. Days when the sun nourishes the countryside with a passing spell of warmth feel like a gift; a brief moment to be savoured in an otherwise blustery and unpredictable month. On one such day, the birds are congregating on feeders I have hung close to my dining room window. I love to sit and watch them. Reading or knitting, I am distracted from my pursuit every now and then by their protests. Blue tits hop back and forth, heads twitching, ever alert. A collared dove sits at a distance, nodding slowly as it ponders how to join the throng. A solitary robin picks discarded seed from the ground, quietly avoiding confrontation. Then the starlings arrive: an unruly mob intent on taking more than their share. They crash into the feeders, flapping and squabbling as they prod for sustenance with their piercing beaks. Their antics disperse the other birds. Engrossed in their performance, I put down my knitting. The wind has strengthened, and they cling to their feeding stations, pitching and rolling as if on a stormy sea. Below them, daffodils bend their heads to the ground, their plucky flowers proclaiming spring; defiant against today’s squally weather. As I retrieve my knitting from the window ledge, a trace of warmth crosses my hand. The wind has blown a gap in the cloud and, for a moment, the room is filled with sunshine. But in a breath, it is gone again…