The Doll House is quiet this morning: all the Easter visitors have left.
Joy, oh joy, the sunshine has returned.
T.S. Elliot wrote April is the cruelest month and just when I had begun to slide into a summery feeling I find the morning bright but chilly with the heat all gone.
Gusts of wind get behind the dead leaves in the Hornbeam hedge and launch them into the air. They come flying, like flocks of little birds, only to fall to the ground and clatter, crisply across the gravel.
Wonderful April: a month to delight, surprise, mislead and confuse our bubbling expectations of spring.