There is only so much Spring a man can take. On Monday we arrived with the first swallows at our rural lodgings, on Tuesday we saw our first frog and heard the first pheeuw hou-ke kyo of the bush warbler. Ornamental cabbages, grape hyacinths, red camellias and intoxicated-horse-trees line our trail, not to mention those cheap pink confetti-cherry trees littering all the parks and pavements.
It is hard not to feel hopeful when the sky is blue and the air so clean and pure. Under a blue sky I feel I could forgive anybody, and be forgiven by anybody. The sentiment probably won’t last, hope and goodwill rarely linger beyond April, but it is nice for them to make an appearance.
I have invested in a book of birds. Two years ago I barely knew more than a crow and a seagull and I would even get those two mixed up. Now, I want to know what I am looking at or listening to. Somehow knowing the name of the singer or performer is reassuring, and useful for peppering conversation. Even just their names like bush warbler, dusky thrush and massive tit are a treasure in themselves.