The season is on the move. Brambles sneak out their long thorny feelers, green fern heads unwind and the catkins on the alder give way to fresh folds of leaves, thrusting through like small fingers, grasping at the air. In the pulsing world too, things are on the go. Tortoiseshell butterflies drift on gentle gusts around the garden; jackdaws congregate in ragged black crowds to ride up and down the air currents above the rooftops; the white doves from the next village batter up and down the valley more energetically than ever; and high up on the hilltop moors, a red kite slowly circles.
Under the sun, all these layers of life reaching skyward. But none impress me so much as the visitor on our windowpane, who, with resolve and audacity, is quietly going for it, at a snail’s pace, climbing infinitesimally up.
Pontycymer, South Wales
6th April 2014