moving, fighting, living

On the move from sun to sun.

In the Grove ahead of me I see two male blackbirds challenging one another. Driven to desperation they fly up into the air to confront each other, their bodies upright, their wings going like mad. One bird apparently wins because  as his opponent flies off,  he returns  alone to his territory; and - it's the same old story -joins a female  who has been pecking away at the grass, flattered no doubt, or taking the whole thing for granted.

"Living salad" is how Sainsbury's  describe the plastic cartons they sell in which salad leaves are planted and have grown to a state, where they are ready to harvest with  help of a pair of scissors.  I can imagine the factory greenhouses where lines and lines of these pocket gardens are sown, nurtured  and labelled. If Sainsbury's can do it, so can I. In cartons, conveniently pierce with holes in the base, which originally contained strawberries and other soft fruit, (and which I saved in case they came in useful), I put a little compost and a scattering of seed, and today for the first time, I can harvest my own, home grown. living salad.