Fly past

Suddenly it's springy.

The crocuses have swiftly succeeded the snowdrops.

The daffodil cyclamineus, 

with its swept back petals in the background

emerging from last year's leaf litter.

Scotney Castle reflected in the still-watered moat

on one of those perfect windless days.

A robin auditioning for The Robin Who Showed the Way

in the Secret Garden.

The robin flew from his swinging spray of ivy on to the top of the wall

and he opened his beak and sang a loud, lovely trill,

merely to show off.

Nothing in the world is quite as adorable as a robin when

he shows off - and they are nearly always doing it.

The robin kept singing and twittering away and

tilting his head on one side,

as if he was as excited as she was.

The sun setting at nearly half past five.

The luxury of extended daylight

easing me out of hibernation.

And this weekend -

summer apparently!

Perhaps this sign spotted last weekend

was not so incongruous after all.

Running away

First to Greenwich Park where we took in a photographic exhibition

at The National Maritime Museum -

The Great British Seaside.

I have never known the lime blossom to be more

blissful and poignant.

There was a whole avenue of it to drink in.

That along with privet blossom is the scent of childhood summers.

And then today when the kerfuffle and cacophony reached its apogee

with the arrival of more scaffolding and men with nail guns,

we went to Igtham Mote.

But even that was too noisy for comfort so we set off

(at midday) on one of the estate trails.

Unfortunately we timed our arrival back home with the work still in full swing,

and the music on the roof had increased in volume with our absence.

Someone had brought along their own playlist.
Bobby Darin was an improvement on talk radio but

my first choice for the scaffolders would have been

I think it was the first pop song I ever heard.

Reality check

We've been enjoying some beautiful gardens.

This one at Scotney Castle

with its stunning display of acers, azaleas

and rhododendrons

and of course Sissinghurst too with

the white wisteria just opening.

I took note of a pairing of smoke bush

and alliums, underplanted with a pale pink persicaria 

and thought I could do something similar at home.

But the fox cubs had other ideas.

These are the ones I salvaged.

 I thought of Freda and her deer-munched tulips

and all the other people working against the clock, the climate and the critters

to get their gardens ready for public display this summer.

Hold the front page

This Bank Holiday weekend delivered spring and early summer

all rolled into one glorious extravaganza.

The beach,

deserted and sandy for once, raked of its usual shingle layer.

Wisteria.

Rhododendrons.

Azaleas.

Other people's gardens,

open to the public under the National Garden Scheme.

Walks, with dodgy overgrown footpaths

and equally dodgy directions from an ancient guide book

but a bonus discovery

of an abandoned orchard, like a scene from The Secret Garden

with a mysterious gazebo in the middle of nowhere.

 Foliage colour to rival that of autumn

but with added zing and zest,

and finally, a rare treat, the handkerchief tree 

Davidia involucrata in flower

to wave us on our way home.