The oaks across the road are flowering.
Can you spot my Sunday nemesis on the chimney of the new townhouses, behind the branches? He has been singing since dawn, and is very good at impersonating (imbirdinating?) car alarms. Trilling and rilling and rolling and...never shutting up. Very beautiful at times and very annoying just 30 seconds later.
It is a fragile blue day. The terrace looks very pretty and full of promise.
I was hoping for weather like this on Tuesday, when I'll meet Amy, Estorbo's over-qualifed cat sitter No. 1, for lunch, here. It would have been nice to sit on the terrace, but there are clouds in the forecast.
The strawberries have begun to bloom.
And lower, in the shadier bits, the foam flowers have opened.
The heuchera is promising to take over the world. Just two weeks ago it was smaller than the primrose. Lilies are beginning to emerge in the same pot.
Otherwise, a very lazy Sunday. We are both nursing dastardly colds and will stay home. The Frenchman built me an avant garde house of butter to cheer me up.
But I may have to plant something, later.
How can one not, on a day like this? Maybe I need more lettuces...
...sh...the mockingbird is silent!