This is where the robin sings
Well, you can't win, can you? My friend, the robin, stopped singing last night - and I lay awake worrying what had happened to him. Had hypothermia overtaken him? Had an exasperated neighbour shot him? Then he started again at 6 o'clock. When Jane opened the curtains, the reason became obvious. The world (at least Grove) was blanketed in snow. He clearly had tucked his head under his wing in the blizzard.
Today we've been hanging pictures, including one of a kingfisher, in the dining room. Hopeful sign.
Snow enforced idleness - I've been watching a flock of blackbirds enjoying the leftover windfall apples under the hedge. Could collective noun for blackbirds be 'pie'? (As in the 4 and 20 of nursery rhyme fame) Nice of us not to have made one of the apples.
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