Foxglove

That is the time of year we are in, and the road smells musty against the freshened air. I turn uphill to the track, and slip the dogs' leads off as soon as we are safely off the road. They run ahead, and show me that scent is good on the damp ground, as if I needed reminding.

Country lore makes good weather forecasting, but these days the Met. Office is better. I moved the magpie in the Larsen last night to a sheltered place, which meant that she could not do her job this morning, but also that she kept dry and comfortable.

It is little enough return for the work she does in luring her relatives into the trap. How many songbirds will she save this way? They need all the help they can get to survive.

Today will be wet also, and therefore she can have the day off, secure in her green cave of foliage. I change her water for fresh, and leave her with a couple of hen eggs to eat, removing the remains of the rabbit she had yesterday. She watches me with beady corvid eyes, bright and unafraid.

For full feature see West Sussex Gazette May 6