but spring is a feast of sight and scents and sound.
Imagine a constant buzzing of bees
a flitting of waspy things and hover flies.
Imagine that high pitched chiff-chaff-chiff-chaff-chiff
and the drill of the woodpecker and the screigh
of pheasants echoing round quarry walls.
Imagine dappled sun light shifting
under new leaf and in and out of shade,
the smell of damp lichens after rain, the scent
the wonder of the waxy yellow bog lily's flower
the gunneras which grow bigger hour on hour
a thousand daffodils wafting in light breeze
the peppery nose-pricking breath of flowering blackcurrant its
dangle of pink blooms all a-buzz with bees,
Listen for new lambs calling for their ma-a-a-a-a-a.
Sit yourself down in early spring sunshine and take it in
-- the almost silent conversation that is Belsay in April.
