Drip-drop-drip-drop dripping. The warm March sun has turned the world liquid. This precious water with its sometimes playful, always peaceful tinkling sound! A wood-pecker hammering away in an old oak. It pauses for a moment and I can hear its wings beating the air. It lands on the compost heap and starts to feast. Obviously, it sometimes prefers a mushier fare.
Blue tits chirping in the woods, their voices almost liquid, almost far away. A neighbour’s cat moves through the melting snow. She doesn’t walk, she slithers, her movements fluid, almost like those of a snake. All through her midday wanderings she meows mournfully.
Spring sun, winter breeze. Tightly closed magnolia buds waiting patiently.