I stop to smell yesterday’s mown grass in the fileds beyond the castle walls and hear the newborn lambs call for their mammas. The mistle thrush has diminished through the years. I see one each day as I drive to work at the castle, but not so many as I saw as a boy.
Spring heightens the wild songs of the unfettered and free. As I ride through the woodlands on my way up to the workshops the mixed aroma of bluebells and rhododendrons pervades the whole expanse from the sea to the castle. It’s worth the stop. This is what I see.
Seeing the vibrancy of a new day unfold in flowers and pine cones makes me ever conscious of how limited my skill really is.