This week the song is blackbird sweet.
Along the drive a rather unpromising row of trees, strangely misshapen by the wind, straggly. Most of the year they occupy their position with a quietly green understated shyness. But, just now they are starring in the Lane's annual blossom festival.
Like a row of ballerinas, the corps de ballet lined up in the wings. Straight slender legs topped with extravagant cherry petticoats. Through the trunks you can glimpse the glorious stage~all set for the glory of the main event...summer.
The house sits happily in its frilly frame.
Outside the back door the Sussex countryside that floats off beyond the gate is washed with the most delicate tint of spring green. Every morning a new wash is added and the colour strengthens.
An impromptu seating area ~ somewhere to breathe and take in breakfast (sun~feast). Fat fuzzy bumble bees drinking in the first nectar. The willow's newly grown mop head dancing and quivering..."love, love me do..."
And the blackbird sings a little louder.
I curtsey in front of the cherrys.
I nod to the forsythia
"Nice to see you...to see you, nice!"