98. Wild cherry and pear blossom billow up the mountain sides. Every day the colours change, grey to white to cream to pink. After temperatures of high 20s in late March the days have turned grey and blowy. Plenty of rain. Daffodils have faded, tulips bounce in the winds and the cuckoos call. The first I heard in mid March. The rusty trills of cirl buntings and yellow hammers. Yellow brimstones, tortoiseshells, speckled woods and clouded yellows fly when the sun comes out, which it does between the giboulees. Eagles come in from the southern countries. A short toed one pale & glinting in the light and followed always by crows. The harriers skirt over the grass blades, twisting and sliding on their air, tacking and jibing like sail boats in a wind. Swallows passed around 20th. March and on the 25th. more stayed. E. has ploughed his potager and planted his potatoes. Sylvie has managed to kill all the rose cuttings I gave her in the Autumn so I`m potting up some more. Finally a plaque is erected in the square on a wall just above the lavoir. A grandfather and uncle to M. are memorialised at last. But she shakes her head and says she`ll have to keep watch. Things might happen to it apparently.