'Twixt winter and spring

The thin film of ice on the backwater and ponds spoke of winter - fragile as an eggshell but taking on the warm patina of beaten metal from reflections of reed and willows. A redwing passed through stopping briefly to survey the scene from the top of a poplar tree, whose pointed buds were just beginning to swell. A noisy flock of goldfinches probed last years birch catkins, carefully extracting the remaining seeds while reed buntings flitted at the pond edge, silhouetted against the dazzling gold seed-heads of the reed (see extra).

But despite the sub-zero temperatures, the river was alive with bird song - the monotonous two-toned call of the great tit being most prominent, but with snatches of blue tit, dunnock and robin - like an orchestra tuning-up for the main performance. A great spotted woodpecker flew into the top of a willow and its characteristic drum-roll rang out over the valley, the first of the year. And in a sheltered corner by the water the first few flowers of the cherry-plum had emerged.

High above, the kestrel flew over the tussocky marshland, hovering, head bent down, watching for the slightest movement in the grass.

(Thank you all so much for all the stars and hearts bestowed on yesterday's pony. It was almost dark when I took the photograph, but this gave it a painterly quality, rather suitable for the subject matter).