The day I forgot to think of a title

It's quarter to six and Richard's just made me a cup of tea. After 36 hours of pain I'm starting to feel a bit more comfortable, if a little stiff and tired. It's been several days since I've been outside or been for a walk - for different reasons - and the evening sunlight has called to me to escape for a few minutes before dark. I'm wandering around the messy, muddy, desperately-seeking-maintenance, imperfect garden with a cup of tea in one hand and a camera in the other (I hate the spelling of maintenance. When I write a dictionary I'm going to spell it 'maintainance'), the sun is still finding its way into one corner and Tess is swinging on the monkey bars after her tea. Yes after tea. There are about five months of the year when it's too dark and cold to be out this late so when it stays light long enough for us to get out again (and it's not raining) it's very pleasant and feels very special the first few times after the winter.
Tess has had a swimming lesson, she has wet hair and she's wearing sandals. I'm not going to pretend it's warm but she is!
There's a small bird on a telegraph wire calling to its mate, and from somewhere comes the reply. I can't see in the sunlight but it sounds like a chaffinch. The nesting box we put up on the birch tree early summer last year has been checked out and there are signs of interest. A few days ago I saw what looked like wood splinters sticking out of a tiny slit in the bottom and today there is a feather poking out. I'm hoping it's bluetits because we didn't see many last year.
The yellow forsythia and gaudy pink camellia show themselves off against the full blue sky and match the playful colours of Tess's clothes. It's getting cold and we reluctantly go inside. The darkness and the lateness bring a host of evening jobs, electric lights, TV, and shut out nature but a for a few minutes I got to lose myself and remember what's real.