The birds they sing ...

Ok, Leonard Cohen fans, that title's for you - but today, and a few days ago, I noticed a distinct change in the sounds of bird life around us. I'm used to hearing the racket made by the resident dunnocks, and the seagulls tend not to have a quiet season, but the other day we heard a thrush, and later in the lane a blackbird, and several places featured robin-song and I felt that Spring must be close at hand.

One very birdsongy place - with luck from now to November - is the area of ground around our church.  This morning as we drove round the corner on our way to the service - very slowly because of the potholes and the fallen tree trunks - I was struck by the appearance of the sun behind the tall trees and, madly, demanded that Himself stop the car so that I could get our to take photos. The one in the blip was the first in a handful I had in my bag, and shows the church at the top of its hill  - you can see it on the left - and the mature trees that surround it, and offstage right the tall rhododendron is covered in pink flowers. 

Everyone seemed very jolly at church, despite the Lenten trappings (no flowers, purple altar cloth etc) - and the new wee piece that himself wrote yesterday afternoon for me to sing at communion was lovely; I didn't mess up despite the brevity of rehearsal time; people liked it. And the reminiscence of Rachmaninov in its melody was a deliberate homage to that brave soul Alexey Navalny. Just great.

And the rest of the day? Just another Sunday, really - we had a walk at Toward because despite the sunny, mild morning by the time we were ready to go out there were looming clouds and annoying showers and the lighthouse road seemed blessedly free of rain because it protrudes into the Firth instead of hugging the foot of the hills. 

And now it's bedtime again, and I'm ridiculously tired again... life seems very full!