The earlier third of the day was overcast but warm.
On my way through the garden to set out on a walk down
I photographed several newly opened tulips,
one of which bore a sleepy bee.
Even 30 m.p.h. on our eponymous winding lane is probably too fast at any time, yet it seems necessary to reinforce the limit with plenty of notices along the way.
and buttery celandines bear out Susan Hill’s view of spring as ‘the yellow season’ expressed in ‘The Magic Apple Tree’.
Along with hardy white daisies
and rambling purple vinca, they decorate the burgeoning verges,
while bristling blackthorn
adorns the hedgerows.
A felled tree hosts ageing tree fungus.
The downward stretch of Downton Lane is a mostly manageable gently sloping descent.
I turned back at the steepest bend
and made my way home.
A pair of friendly cyclists, two abreast, had at least crossed to the other side as they passed me but I did wonder whether I should carry an estate agent’s snazzy measuring device to ensure a safe distance in these self-isolating times.
On 27th March Jackie had begun revamping the Oval Bed which she photographed.
Later this afternoon she produced images of her finished work.
She also photographed these leaves of crocosmia and day lilies,
and aroused bronze fennel setting off to soar above prize primroses and primulas.
This evening we dined on roasted sausages and new potatoes served on a bed of fried onions; a soft melange of cabbage and leeks; tender runner beans; and crunchy carrots with tasty gravy. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Benguela Bay Shiraz 2018.
Jackie’s having to add a little oil to the sausages because they held no fat reminded us of the gristly and cereal-filled apologies that had put us off bangers for life when we were young. Walls offerings were the anathema of our childhood. It was in France that I first experienced sausages with sufficient meat content.