I popped the phone into my dressing gown pocket and switched off the lights to go upstairs. All the furniture in the room was visible and outside a silver light was filling one quarter of the sky: the full moon behind lacey clouds. My phone took a few minutes off alarm clock duty to let me focus on what I saw – through a glass darkly – what I saw with my inward eye was more than my external eye in the camera could record. It was worth remembering and, I hope, worth sharing.
This oak was in leaf a few days before the trees in the woodland behind it. The golden green will soon darken up. The path winds up from Canterbury city to the University of Kent, a popular walk with local people and a breath of fresh air for university people going about their business.
This winter our walk in and out of town has often featured, at ground level, a young heron, who seemed to be making a living in the shallows of the River Stour. A few yards upstream the water is much deeper, due to the sluices from the former mill site. This provides deep water and a living for a couple of cormorants who dry themselves on the roof of the sheltered housing block, or else the trees across the road from there.
6th April, Mrs Turnstone and I were in Woodbridge, Suffolk, for a change of air and scene. A walk across a little level crossing brought us out of town to a bench with an untidy patch of willow scrub behind us and the estuary before us; that was where we were looking, with shelduck, gulls, crows and many different waders. I used to be more confident in identifying these when I could count on using my beach-side lunch breaks from work; however today there were knots, redshanks, oystercatchers, curlews and a whimbrel, as well as oystercatchers, an egret and a few crows.
I would have left the bench happy to have seen these, but there was something else behind us. Not the goldfinches that were highlighted by the pollen-laden pussy willow, but a real singer, a nightingale, happy to have arrived here safely.
Will he and his mate spend the summer in this – to many human eyes – scruffy eyesore? It would be good to think many people will hear him. Mrs T and I are glad to have heard him, newly arrived from the South, just as many of the birds on the mud were preparing to fly to their Northern summer homes.
I have typed up many a post for Will’s Turned Stones these last months but all in my imagination. Let’s reclaim one of them this evening!
A week or so ago I was sitting in the L’Arche garden at Saint Mildred’s, staring at this forsythia, golden in the sun. I had just given a rooted, flowering cutting to one of the houses but still had this one to enjoy.
Of a sudden, a bunch of the flowers took off and flew along the hedgerow. It was a brimstone butterfly, one of the first heralds of spring in the insect world. This one at rest looks like a beech leaf, but in flight is bright yellow, like the forsythia, even more so when the sun is shining through its wings.
A special moment to be grateful for.
Well, we’ve always thought of Valentine’s Day as the birds’ wedding day, but this year the bouquet goes to the garden frogs. Mrs Turnstone ran indoors to grab her phone and record the event. We shall have to watch the weather and protect the eggs from frost, if we get any. It is unusually warm. But we have had lying snow in February, half a lifetime ago.
At least we can do a bit for the climate by helping the frogs who choose our pool. That may include covering it to prevent the blackbirds from fishing.
The hazel we planted a few years ago on a scrap of waste land was not in flower on New Year’s Day, but yesterday it had shaken out the first lambs’ tails. Can Spring be far behind?
A peaceful and prosperous New Year to each and every reader! God bless,
Will.
Mrs Turnstone’s delight in the flowering of her white hellebore (or Christmas rose) is worth sharing.
Boxing day is not too late to wish you a very happy Christmas and a peaceful and prosperous New Year.
Will Turnstone.
Mrs Turnstone and I were in Southwell, Nottinghamshire, where we went to see the Mediaeval carved leaves in the Cathedral. The garden of the ruined Palace of the Archbishops of York has been planted to accompany the stone leaves, but this post is about a tree that does not appear inside: the Larch. It appears here as a flame, as its needles turn from green to gold.
The needles close-up. It won’t be long before they fall to the ground; this is the only deciduous conifer in Europe. It is equally beautiful when the new needles appear in spring.
About 10.00 this morning these pigeons had fluffed up their feathers and were clearly enjoying a safe sunbathe.
Will Turnstone 
