“All in the April evening,
April airs were abroad.”
On our way to dinner this evening, Emma and I decided to walk the hundred yards or so of unmade back lanes, arriving at Mum and Dad’s through the field beside Hillcroft.
April harbours beautiful light, a cacophony of Spring birdsong and distinct scents that each evoke fragments of memories like few other things can. The western verge of Northlands Approach had been cleared for the first time in years and the smell of damp earth bursting with fresh green life was heady. The sun had already slipped behind Coombe Woods, the clouds buffed in pink grey above the silhouette of trees. As we turned into Coombe Drive we could hear the birds in full voice before sundown, thrushes, blackbirds, robins, tits, finches and sparrows vying for air time, invisible yet at the same time more real and present in tunes than ever a band is on an MP3 player.
Walking up the field, it was great to feel the soft, damp grass under our feet, lush and spongy. Picking our way slowly to the top of the rise, by the woodshed, I stopped to take a picture.
Another perfect Sunday.