The weather in the last 10 days of March was ridiculous, and I use “ridiculous” in the sense of an old Scots word, which means unseasonal. And here, I mean unseasonably warm and dry. I have a few old Scots words in my head now. Trees flounce in strong winds. Days with wind and rain are glousterie. Freezing weather is nose-nippin’. There are far fewer words for good weather.
On one of these ridiculous days I went walking up on to the moorland. Somehow, my hopes were high that I’d see an eagle – perhaps as a reward as it was my first real day out after 10 days struck down with Covid, when the closest to nature I got was the blackbird that started singing within 10 minutes of 4.29am each morning.
The mountains beyond still had small patches of snow in their shadiest nooks, reflecting the colour of the sky, and the landscape felt big and expansive. I heard the deep call of a raven, and scanned the sky for a while before I saw the tiniest black speck, amazed at how the sound carried in the crisp clear air. Apart from the odd puff of cloud and the occasional contrail, the sky remained stubbornly empty, until I started to look closer.
Perhaps it was a day for noticing the smaller things, back after a winter’s absence. Meadow pipits’ twittering filled the air, and in their upward display flight they looked as if they were push-push-pushing against the air just for the joy of how they spread their wings and parachuted down to the ground; I watched as they did it again and again.
A bright siskin flew among the junipers and stonechats perched on the top of young Scots pines, the males’ black heads and orange bodies popping against the blue of the sky.
On the way home, I rejoiced that the pied wagtails were also back, and I heard my first chiffchaff too. In the field, a peacock butterfly landed in front of me, then a small tortoiseshell – everything affirming that spring was, perhaps, here.
And yet, by the month’s end, we were in the Borrowing Days, named for March stealing days from April, and bringing back some wintry weather. Sure enough, on the 30th came St Causlan’s flaw – a shower of snow in March.
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