It seems to be the yellowest spring in memory. For a start, two people come down from Belfast, exuding delight at - according to them - the miles and miles of daffodils along the road into Dublin. And, sure enough, if you are on the road to the west from Dublin you'll see them, too, in profusion. And even when you go off the M50 on to the dual carriageway towards Dunshaughlin and Navan. There may be miles and miles of them elsewhere. And in gardens, on this east side, anyway, after a late start, they are flourishing.
Even if you don't feel it in your bones, the plants do, and the seeds. For example, in a cardboard box in a greenhouse, a few score acorns waiting to be potted are breaking out of their skins. And some of the exotic kermes (or chermes) oaks, quercus coccifera, picked up on the roadside in France last year, are poking up tiny holly like leaves. In ten years they will probably be about two to three feet high. Before the shoot appears, the root has gone down into the compost of the pot, so it would be as well to keep a little water in the saucer.
And, of course, the usual spring drama or tragedy with the garden birds. Blackbirds built on a join of two outside pipes, just beside a neighbour's back door. It looked safe-ish, and anyway, there was a barking, leaping dog loose for much of the day in the garden. Two days ago there was much piping and throaty sounds from the birds. The nest had been raided by a local cat. Only one scaldie remained, fairly well fledged and big. It was put back into the nest. The parents returned, and a huge protective screen of chicken wire was extended to prevent the cat getting up again.
It didn't keep a magpie from descending the next morning and making off with the last of the brood. You can go over all the arguments again. It's the magpie's nourishment. You can't argue with Nature. But a local, overfed, pampered cat? They are all implanted deeply with the hunting instinct. One specialises in laying mice at its mistress's bedside. Or shrews. Or birds in season. And a normally behaved dog goes wild when it comes across a ground nesting bird's eggs. Pheasant, duck, slurp, slurp. And we humans eat . . .? Let's not get into that. The blackbird was nearly like a bereavement in the family.
Bright point of the day. A relative rings up his wife from Granada to announce that he is sitting out in the shade, as the temperature is 24 celsius. Damn.