Maybe, just maybe, a hint of spring...

I slept in my own home last night for the first time in over a week. During that ethereal phase of awaking and wondering where I was, I tried also to work out what it was that had woken me...

And then I realised: They are back!

They are the Lesser Black-backed Gulls that form a loose colony on the chimney tops of the houses in my street. They have returned to start a new breeding season.

One of the pairs of Lesser Black-back Gulls that colonise the chimneys in my street

Right now, they are in dispute, competing vigorously and noisily for the most desirable chimney upon which to raise a family; later, the noise will intensify when eggs are laid and the sight of every domestic cat, or even a mum with a pram, raises a cacophony of scolding alarm cries.

When the chicks hatch, their begging screeches will add to the din, and and the parents swill swoop angrily on those who dare to approach too closely. The racket will rise to a crescendo in July when the cries of the fledgling gulls add to those of the adults.

Yes, from now until the end of July, I expect to be woken each morning by the clamour of Lesser Black-backed Gulls.

Do I mind?

Not a bit of it! Why choose to live near the sea if you cannot appreciate the sounds that go with it!

Hazel catkins, like a mist in the woodland under-story

This portent of spring prompted me to search for others in the woods where I carry out my fieldwork. Maybe a wild daffodil or two on some mossy bank will be seeking sunlight? Or even a precocious violet or primrose fortunate enough to be lodged in a sheltered sun-trap will have raised its head above the parapet?

But not yet. In the gullies, there was still remnants of recent snow; it will be a few days yet before floral colour is seen in the woods.

The change that I noticed since my last visit was an explosion of catkins on the coppiced hazel trees, dancing like lambs tails in the sunshine that was trying so hard to emerge.

Lambs tails