Tattie flowers

Today I made time for the walk that used to be daily routine. Glad I did. Got me away from the wretched tourists from England not following Scotland's rules. I saw three people come out of the pub, unmasked, then walk down the street putting masks on . What was that about?

Anyway, up the hill, into the tattie field, then to the wood. The world fell silent but for bird song. Every so often a blackbird would scoot out of the undergrowth beside the path, scuttle along the path for a few yards, then glance over its shoulder at me and decide the rules required flight. Since it happened four times, I wondered if it was the same bird or several.

Interesting isn't it, how a particular sound always triggers the same memory? The sun had thoroughly come out by now, and the cooing of a dove immediately had me back in a London classroom, on a baking hot day, sitting my Latin A Level exam; with a Vickers Vanguard droning overhead on its way into Heathrow, and a steam locomotive hauling freight 100 yards away. A very, very long time ago, but a dove does that to me every time.,

And in an hour's walk, I didn't see a soul until I got back into the town. So very calming.