This week was book-ended by two wonderful Spring-like days, with blue skies, light breezes and drystane-dyke-to-drystane-dyke sunshine. In between Monday and Friday, it wasn't so pleasant, just to remind us that Winter is not yet ready to release the land from its cold iron grip.
Yesterday (Friday) morning, an open window allowed birdsong to radiate into our bedroom from the garden, as a Wren hopped and flitted from perch to perch, there atop a gate, here on a dyke wall, as he claimed a territory and searched for a mate. This high energy performance, always a wonder from such a small bundle of feathers, heightened the sense of anticipation of a season returning and the promise of life anew.
It also reminded me that on Monday, on North Ronaldsay, I had listened to another Wren. One with a distinctive island accent, slightly slower of song as if Time itself had less sway in such an idyllic setting. Or perhaps living on a small island encourages free thinking and a jazz interpretation of the world? Whatever the reason, the song oozed over the landscape, accompanied by golden light from a low February sun. Honey for the soul.
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