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one of the drawbacks of spring...

5/14/06 07:09 am - one of the drawbacks of spring...

is the sheer volume of birdsong coming in through the open window - it's loud enough to compete with quiet classical or "acoustic" music on the radio, radio 3 being listened to whilst reading yesterday's grauniad, for example, or an lp, tape or cd of music you'd listen to at anything under "concert performance" volume levels... it's mostly the blackbirds, possibly abetted by thrushes, occasionally it's pigeons coo-coodling contentedly to one another (it's not my fault, they sound "lovey-dovey"), and there's another two calls i don't recognise, though i ought to be able to identify by now. and at night, there's at least a couple of owls whose "hoo-hoooo" calls remind me the business of the world goes on - hunting, feeding, flying, hiding, dying - even after i'll've finally had the sense to get off to sleep... to be woken by the same crew in the morning.

spring's happened all in a rush here, it seems, this fortnight past: late, but at high speed once it got going. most of the narcissississussess bulbs i planted late last autumn came up - much to my surprise (i've got whatever the opposite of a green thumb is; the only things i ever got to grow in finchley when i was young were beans in the sides of jars an eighth-full of water, held there by blotting-paper (what do kids do now there's no blotting-paper?), and carrot-tops-in-saucers of water, so far as i can remember; and once, a patch of chives outside - oh; and i sowed some sunflower seeds before that - but for some reason, that doesn't count: i'm not sure why, but perhaps it was a parentally-directed, one-off activity rather than something of my own to do. i dunno.), and by the end of that week, the planes and limes (linden) were in leaf, and the following week the dog roses and the wild ?buddleia? ?lilac? (i don't know the names of very many, not to identify them) growing on rough ground on edward street in lancaster, and thousands of dandelions along the roadsides, and hundreds of civic-or-parochially-planted-out daffodils'n'narcississississi (i'm not convinced there's a real difference), and both ornamental and real cherry blossom were all out - and a fair amount of the city's flowering cherry's being blown around in the sudden cool wind+rain last week, already - and the pear (and presumably also the apple) blossom's out, the as-yet-unidentified tree growing up near my window with a little bit of encouragement-by-selective-pruning's buds've opened - somewhat hesitantly at first - and this morning it's in full leaf; and the lambs who were looking all thweet'n'fluffy'n'too new-born-lamb scared to be more than two feet from mum, were yesterday evening playing "i'm the king of the castle" [a] in a style beginning to approach the rambustuous...

now, i'm not complaining about any of this, least of all the avian aural assault - the racket is generally euphonious, even musical - and it all makes a marvellous change from the greyth of winter: but did it have to happen all at once?

[a] - "get down, you dirty rascal!"
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