Amazing to relate: our little wren, Christopher, who has sung all summer trying to found a family, seems at last to have one. He built a nest in the tit box above the oil tank, and for weeks now he has filled the air with piercing song. In vain, or so we all thought. But today we saw a faecal sac being removed from the nest site and we are thrilled to watch the comings and goings. There was a someone for him, someone who answered his cry for companionship and urge to provide for the future. This is a good garden, he called; these are good people, who feed us all year, and feed us plentifully too. My nest is warm, dry and well sheltered, camouflaged by rugosa roses. Life will be gorgeous. Yes, the wind will soon be shaking our ears but there is always hope.
I think I need a haircut again. Does the warm weather make it grow? I am patient and upside down (mostly) when the scissors come out and then the lawn is trimmed, which also does for collecting my fur. Next door they are cutting down two mature fruit trees, a plum and an apple. The sound of the chainsaw is really terrifying and we are all sad as we see the sky take the place of leaves and purple fruit. The warm glow in this photo reflects the presence of our dearest and oldest friend on the day she passed out of our lives. She went far too young and full of life right up until the end, despite her illness. My fur will grow again soon but she and the lovely trees are gone forever.