Spring morning, Hisley wood, water slithering under trees then tossed over stones, singing along its committed path to the sea. Birds echoing their ancestors in urgent chorus interrupted by the occasional drumming of Woodpeckers. Astonishing to meet someone walking with ears plugged in to some alien music - makes me realise how removed from nature we are becoming.
Arriving at the clearing I am once again surprised by how unprepared I am for the intensely luminous yellow of the wild daffodils that carpet that place. Their gleaming phosphorescence sparkles over the grass, dazzling after the drab of winter.
I look again at my secret summer swimming place. The river is deep there now and rather dark and uninviting. Hard to imaging the joy of it last summer, but it will come again in due course.