Sitting neat as you please, on my garden fence post was this enormous Barred owl.

I had been making some lunch and noticed that the robins were being particularly shrieky and annoying. So I stood on the patio, idly glancing around at the sky and trees, wondering what on earth the fuss was about... until our eyes met.

Then it was me who started making shrieky noises as I raced around looking for cameras and lenses. "An owl, an owl, an owl! A Wol! My first one of the year. In my yard. An owl. A Wol!

And WHY is this camera on a tripod NOW? And what do you mean it won't fit through the door with all three legs splayed out? Zounds!

The owl, cool as a cucumber, waited for me to get my nit-witted self together and take a couple of snaps. No doubt it heard me crashing about in the house, talking excitedly to myself.

After about fifteen minutes it flew into the forest, her patience with the dive-bombing robins coming to an end.

When those eyes fix on you, you feel as small as a mouse and I recalled that often owls can bring shadowy messages. I left her to her woodland roaming.

Here where I now live, I can listen to the rising chorus of tree frogs in the evening and occasionally during the day, when it is overcast and drizzling. Overcast and drizzling seems to cheer up the frogs no end and they can't seem to contain a few chirrups and chirps until, what I imagine, a little crowd of them get going and only stop when an older and wiser frog bustles in and shushes them up, "Wait until evening, a more appropriate time. A proper time for a chorus. No one is listening now. They are too busy working or blogging." This is what they say, it is true.

At any rate, it is near impossible to spot a frog. You could be walking along, and there, a chirrup. You stop, and get a sense of where that noise came from, which is difficult as they seem to be able to throw their sound in some kind of freaky parabolic way so you never know exactly where they are. And then you wait...

and wait...

and wait.

The frog waits for you to leave and you wait for the frog. The frog always wins.

BUT, hello, what's this in the yard? Nearly run over by a lawn mower, this dapper little creature, was spotted and had his picture taken. Umbrage! Good job the husband has keen eyes. He spotted another later on...or perhaps it was the same one, thinking he had made good his escape.

There is a beautiful Indian Plum growing outside my front door. I didn't know what it was when I moved in as it was not in leaf. Every morning (when I let the dog out) I have had the opportunity to watch it slowly come to life as the light levels change. This breaking dormancy does not tread a measured course. No, it surges and waits, plateaus and skips along. Now the buds swell and unfurl, but then a hiatus. Nothing seems to happen until a shift, something invisible I can not see, cajoles the blooms to unravel themselves and hang in pendents off the grey limbs. Leaves follow, slow to show, until in a hurry they unfurl their green sails in swept back surprise, perhaps shocked to see new people have moved in while they slept.