And every spiky belfry humming with a peal of bees

The vernal equinox was marked by a tawny owl hooting a few minutes before noon. It startled me - for a moment I thought someone had an owl decoy call but it seemed more likely I was hearing the real thing. Disturbed in its sleep I suppose; I couldn't hear any birds mobbing the tawny. There's a hollow oak down on Field Lane I hope owls use as a nesting place but I didn't want to want to unsettle it further (I've read since they're not that bothered by humans). I texted cybermule to wonder what owls dreamt about: not flowers, not round here. She answered back: twigs and screams.

Sunday, wandered round Sarehole Mill and Moseley Bog, Little Tolkien's stomping ground. The blackthorn is blooming creamy along the River Cole; here and there the faintest pink. Pussy willow flowering in fur. We found the remnants of a walled garden (not as impressive as the one at Elmdon) and sat for a while. A couple passed us and I may've grumbled at the fact they were vaguely looking in my my direction when the comment There's the Victorian remains were uttered.  There are some rippled wooden posts at the top of a rut leading into a field there, about the same height as me. Somebody walked past me and said You can't take them with you. I told him I hadn't got the pockets but I was tempted. Instead I came home with a sample of elderflower liqueur C bottled for me. With tonic water in it tastes herbal to me, a little like star anise perhaps. I like it a good deal. Later in the night the first moth of the year came in through the window: spiralling under my light bulb for a while before setting quite easily onto my hand. Probably it would have sat there quite happily for a while but I took a picture then gently shooed it back into the night. A Noctuid, but I couldn't get a more positive ID than that: bronze wings peppered with dark zigzags. Sometimes them being close is enough; the names are a bonus.

Spring is back. I feel I'm waking up again.