Ten past eleven. Tunbridge Wells Station from footbridge.
In the vegetable garden the soundscape has and flaps and rattles in the wind. Some lighter sheeting over a huge pile of sand makes rustles. The the wind drops, the sun comes out, and you hear robins and tits begin to chirrup and twitter.
The yellow flowers of Spring are beginning gradually, perhaps reluctantly to flower. Even the brazen daffodils are slow off the mark. Today the first dandelions and lesser celandine open their petals. The pale green and yellow catkins meanwhile slant down from the branches of trees like rain. And the wind beating down from Northern Europe still chills even when the sun is out.