Trees glowing green.
Blackbirds and fieldfares all over our hawthorn.
Lots of berries.
A dreich day.
Charles Darwin’s 210th birthday.
A fallen tree and a fatal house-fire.
In which I return to a favourite childhood haunt after a gap of 40 years.
In which I attempt to grow blackthorn seedlings from sloes collected last autumn.
Each spring, I visit a particular corner of the Moor to check if an old friend has managed to survive another winter.