84.

End December.

Snow melt. The black caps are  no longer puff balls but sleek warblers again,  feeding on the ground peanut meal. A male blue tit is inspecting a nest box in the eaves and carrying out a little homework. A great tit chimes out its territory. Greyness pervades and I think I might prefer the bright cleanliness of the snow. Now the litter and  plastic hedgerow decorations sing out. Isn`t a society's condition reflected in its rubbish? And Britain one of the richest nations in the world?