When the roe don’t show
I’ve never been on a blind date, but I imagine it’s a bit like stalking roe in early April: anticipation, surprises galore and a good chance of returning home, by choice, with nothing to show for it.
During the short, raw days of winter, I often think fondly of the first week of the roebuck season: the verdant flush of new growth on the hawthorn; skylarks in song-flight 100m high; gangs of long-tailed tits flitting among the catkins as the aroma of wild garlic rises from careful footsteps...
Hope and change
The trouble is, as much as I love her, Mother Nature can be a temperamental old mare as she strides on past the March equinox with summer in her
