The cuckoo comes in April, sings a song in May, so goes the old saying.
Not any more. We used to have two or three in the woods and fields but this was the third year in a row with none at all.
I don’t know what makes me sadder at this lovely time of year: the cuckoo’s absence, or the fact that most people don’t realise and many don’t even care.
And to make matters worse there is the bafflement of the experts as to why, when all around the reasons are obvious.
The more humans there are, the more we pollute and poison the land, sea and sky, the more we concrete it over, the fewer cuckoos, the less wildlife.
Do we deserve to have the pleasure of listening to the cuckoo any more?
Obsessed with growth, money, ourselves and each other, we cannot see that our mother, the earth, is sick.
Perhaps the only hope is in the next generation, who might understand why their fate is tied up with every other living thing on this planet.
Paul Lovatt Smith