It’s not raining this morning but the dampness has thickened into mist and murk. Rumour has it Spring will fully unfurl next week.
Work continues on the Arborfield Green footpath. It will be a pleasurable route through the new garden village one day running all the way from Finchampstead Baptist Church to the far side of the former garrison. But, not today. Toes are dampened as I squelch through the ragged gaps in the route.
Tree-lined, the path is blanketed by daffodils and primroses under a canopy of fresh leaf burst. It is a pretty palette of spring greens and yellows still trapped by the surrounding building works and the shadowy backdrop of the army’s abandoned brutalist architecture.
Meanwhile the Loddon flood plain is saturated again, a field of lakes, whilst Lockey Farm is flooded with newborn lambs.
I couldn’t see Gary, my name for our local Great Crested Grebe, on my way home. Then I spotted him, tucked up asleep on his little island looking a bit how I felt.