This moth was tiny, barely the size of my thumbnail. Do you know the basic difference between butterflies and moths? I didn’t, until looking it up today — but apparently, all butterflies have little balls at the end of their antennae. As this creature doesn’t have those, it’s a moth. Now you know.
The plum tree is bearing a heavy load this year, and needed help. Banyan trees have worked out how to do this kind of thing for themselves, but not yet this species. The working week started with a trip to the builders’ merchants in order to acquire some long, stout bits of wood to prop up the most creaking branches.
This is not an eventful period of my life. This is nothing to do with the Great Fear, it’s just how the wheel is turning at the moment. But at least the wild strawberries are out, and waiting to be found.
Everything’s growing fast. Do the weeding in the garden and three days later it all comes back, it seems. These plants — I am not botanist enough to identify them — offered a splash of colour to the mostly green landscape but it was only temporary; they are weeds, they had to go. But like everything else, they will no doubt return.
If you can’t see why it’s a good idea to put a plank of wood like this in one’s garden water butt, you’ve clearly never had to get the drowned corpse of an indeterminate creature out of one, as we once did. Anyway, over the last few months, it has been colonised. The slime came first — now, this rather more photogenic red fungus, or that is what I assume it is. Who knows, give it a couple of thousand years and we might have entire civilisations existing in this water butt universe.
Three minutes after I had dug over the garden a little and this robin perches not six feet from me and virtually demands that I capture its close-ups. Seeing as this is taken in pretty much the same spot as the picture of the last robin to grace this blog, only 22 days ago, it might be the same one — either way, it is the latest example of how this particular species really has learned to not be in the least bit bothered about us humans. Perhaps it, too, is slightly annoyed by the presence of the white plastic tie, but what the hell.
Robins succeed because they’ve commandeered the ecological niche entitled ‘we really don’t give a shit about those human creatures’. We turned over a pile of compost on the allotment and this fearless chap was picking it over before we’d moved five feet back. He got the best pickings — woodlice, centipedes, worms — everything else was just in his wake. Birds! Ignore the humans! Be the robin! You’ll not regret it.
The sun was definitely out this afternoon. Spring feels like it’s in the post, and once it does break out in full I doubt many people will be staying at home, whatever the powers say. I think it is a birch tree at the bottom of the garden that’s broken out this rash of catkins since I was last up there.
We might as well all hibernate, mightn’t we. The apple tree needed pruning, though, and deepest winter is the time to do it, according to those who know. The shot reflects the greyness of the day and the other clouds, the ones that currently separate us from each other. I feel like I’m on an extended break from the rest of humanity.
