I can see you

I couldn't see the whites of her eyes, or any part of them. But see me she could, because she was moving rapidly upslope towards me, I had to dodge behind a bush while Gus, being a very sensible dog, was maintaining his usual, discreet distance.

Her handlebars are even more impressive than the last time I blipped her on 10th January 2018. Do the horns of Highland cows, like our noses, ears and prostate glands, keep growing throughout their lives, or do they finally stop? She's five years old now, and still smaller overall than some of the big cows of her mother's generation. Two years ago, she gave birth to a calf, an event that took me by surprise, is that going to happen again this year?

What I do know is that the highlands, though now only 4 in number, are making a difference to the big pasture. Much of the dense thatch of grass has been broken up, flowers are becoming more abundant, the ant hills are proliferating and the green woodpeckers that feed on them are yaffling again. Last year I found a patch of fragrant orchids that I hadn't seen there previously (more about them to come in a blip later this year).

It's been another grey day. I was expecting an impressive bore with the big equinoctial tide, and I made sure I was in place 15 minutes before it was due. It arrived early again, yet was a disappointing anticlimax, a ripple rather than a wave, passing under the kayaks rather than picking them up, they had to wait for the tidal current to carry them up to the viaduct.