More than Writers

  Firstly, apologies for this being so very late - I actually got my dates and days wrong! Anyway, here it is. The garden is very quiet, still, grey this morning. As I step outside, my hands clasped around a warming mug of coffee, for my daily dose of garden therapy, it’s easy to feel disappointed. And I do. At first. I miss our regulars: flame fronted robin his song volume belying his size; camouflaged great and blue tits performing acrobatics from the branches; blackbird and his contrasting beak dipped in buttery gold paint pot; even the kiss chasing squirrels have disappeared. Then I hear two magpies having a to-and-fro discussion in the cypress above me before they fly off. I recognise (and realise that comes easily now) the distinctive flack-flack-flack of a wood pigeon taking flight. Then the surprise of the morning: the pterodactyl shape of a heron flying low across the sky and I work out that it must be travelling from night time perch on the canal to daytime fishing gr...