I tseems an age since I last wrote my diary, although, in reality, I don’t think it is. It’s probably the change in season that makes it seem like such a different world from just a few weeks ago when I last sat down to write. Never has spring felt so welcome.
There’s a solitary swallow soaring above the garden, feasting on the first bugs of the season. At the bottom of the Glen, on the outskirts of Dumfries, the hedgerows are full of leaves, making our visits to town much more exciting. Our immediate surroundings, higher in altitude and on the edge of exposed moorland, are a couple of weeks behind, but the blackthorn is flowering now, and I noticed this morning that the buds on the pear tree in the garden are
