We're on the cusp of spring, another wierd pandemic spring. of hope and foreboding.
The bird hide at Park End Moss is out of bounds, We stand by the padlocked gate, looking out toward the reed beds and a small flock of pink-footed geese fly over the reeds. Then a pair of red kite calls and flies directly overhead, their forked tails twisting, rudder- like.
Chiff-chaff and great tit calling. A woodpecker drums loudly.