The gorse is in flower, its warm cocunut sweet scent blows up from the valley as I walk down to the river.
My son and daughter in law's dog runs ahead but always pausing and checking where I am when the gap between us gets too wide.
Down by the river in the damper ground the strappy leaves of the wild garlic are pushing up. There are no flowers yet so the smell of garlic is only released when I crush the leaves between my fingers. I must remember to come down again very soon and do some foraging.
There are all sorts of things going on the garden, from little granddaughter, with a muddy smudge on her nose, loving being raced round in the wheelbarrow
to scratching hens,
the pompons of primulas,
and the singing red of the first of the tiny tulips. What a lovely Easter it has been.