Approach to Bogard, late morning

A fallen poplar twig has quite big glossy buds, sticky with balsam.  Great tits and blue tits flitter among the branches, there are some celandine around, though few other flowers.

Down the road, evening.

Nearly six and still light. Birdsong, birdsong, blackbirds and a thrush at the corner of every field, though still there's a cold wind in our faces when we turn around.

Up the road, morning

My it's cold.  We're only out because the car wouldn't start and Mol was done out of an outing.  But she struggles and needs encouragement and massage to keep going.

Up the road, afternoon

At the corner at le Boissy there is a particularly good clump of sorrel, the leaves as large as spinach.  I collect a handful to make sauce for tonight's salmon.