A linnet perched for a few moments above the gorse, now fading and setting-seed. Gorse is dehiscent, its pods bursting open to disperse seed. In hot weather a gorse bush ejects its seeds in a fusillade of popping sounds.
Hunting for butterflies doesn't always go by the book. I know their season. This morning's hot weather will suit them but fair-weather clouds drift across the sun. I'm out fairly early and come upon them about 9.30am , I think. You can never have too much of a good thing, I'm not sure I'll have an image of the under-wing, so when the sun blazes down at mid-day I return to the hot-spot. And inexplicably there are no butterflies.