Come What May

The month of May has now truly announced itself. It was scheduled to be here on May Day, of course, but only a grey, chilly morning was present when those ever-optimistic Morris dancers came out to play. Even King Charlie and all the King's horses and men couldn't tempt May to join the merrymaking.

But this week, on a nature reserve not far from home, May twirled her skirts to show all her lacy flounces (otherwise known as the May flower, the blossom of the Hawthorn).

The fresh colours of spring are already being replaced by the heavy greens of summer. Too much cover for birds to hide away in, in my opinion, though their songs give them away. And the lead chorister at Fen Drayton Lakes this week was the Garden Warbler. Both its name and its appearance suggest an unremarkable creature. Until it opens its beak, that is....

As you may have gathered it's one of those characters who can always find something more to say. And when there are at least half-a-dozen of them trilling away, as there was along the Old Ferry Road yesterday, the combined music is astonishing.

Occasional pauses revealed the soft purring of a Turtle Dove. There was a time, not so many years ago, when an evening walk from my door could often be rewarded with its gentle sound. Now I have to make a special journey and even then success is far from guaranteed.

It's always worth getting down low to view the buttercups.

There's a lot of water about after the recent rains, but all the footpaths were reasonably dry - with one predictable exception, but that could be easily by-passed.

This handsome individual doesn't care how much rain there is.

Swavesey windmill, on the horizon, lost its sails long ago and now serves as a wedding venue. It dates from 1866, though there may well have been a mill there previously.

It just wouldn't be my blog without at least one picture of the reedbed.

This is the flower of Salsify, a Mediterranean plant that can be grown as a root vegetable, but which has escaped into the wild in England. It's closely related to a native flower called Goat's Beard which has yellow flowers but is otherwise very similar. As is often the case the folk names for these two flowers have become hopelessly muddled and both of them sometimes go by the splendid old name of Jack-Go-To-Bed-At-Noon, a reference to the flowers closing up in the middle of the day.

The sun shining from behind this tree made it look as though it was illuminated from inside! I think it was Annie Dillard who wrote about "the tree with lights in it", now maybe I know what she meant.

There's a footpath that leads alongside the River Great Ouse.

The sluggish old river dawdles along on its way to the Fens. It's only about 13ft (4 m) above sea level here and it's got some 45 miles (72 km) still to go. No wonder it's taking its time. Come to think of it, as the day is warming up, I'm not feeling particularly energetic either! Time to go and get some lunch.

Take care.