This morning was one of those mornings which is full of promise - an azure sky , the sound of the church bells and a boiled egg for breakfast - oh and toast ! I decided we had to get out early and enjoy the spring sunshine so I cocooned Veronica in her fleecy wheelchair blanket and headed out up our village high street : past thatched,cream painted ,Devon cottages and Georgian red brick houses - some with curtains still drawn ; their occupants still dreaming of - who knows what . At the top end of the village we passed the rookery and already there were signs of nests being built - build high and it will be a fine summer is the local wisdom .From a not too distant copse came the incessant and urgent drumming of a woodpecker and from the hedge row came the distinctive call of a great tit proclaiming his territory - the bicycle pump bird we used to call it . The sun began to feel warm on my back , insinuating itself into my tired and aching body and giving me new energy and hope . Then above us came the plaintiff mewling of a young , solitary buzzard calling out for a mate .We stopped and I watched as he spread his mottled grey and brown wings to catch a thermal and wheel higher and higher leaving us all behind and looking down on the patchwork quilt of fields and valleys and rivers . How I envied his solitary freedom . We turned and looked into the banks where the first primroses are vying for attention with gloriously glossy yellow celandines .Back to the village - past the pub -the doors open and the smell of beer and the beginnings of sunday lunch wafting out into the street ; I looked up under the eaves of the cottages half expecting to see house martins rebuilding their muddy nests as the sun was so warm but of course it is much too early but I said this morning was full of promise and so it was .
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