Not even halfway through February, but it’s impossible not to look forward to spring time; just occasionally there are lovely bright blue-skyed days and birds are singing in the still naked branches and wheeling and flying. For farmers they are as busy on the land as ever, and they will be super-aware of the birds, even when they are in their big new glossy farm machinery!
The Crow will tumble up and down
At the first sight of spring
And in old trees around the town
Brush winter from its wing
No longer flapping far away
To naked fen they fly,
Chill fare as on a winter’s day,
But field and valley nigh;
Where swains are stirring out to plough
And woods are just at hand,
They seek the upland’s sunny brow
And strut from land to land,
And often flap their sooty wing
And sturt to neighbouring tree,
And seem to try all ways to sing
And almost speak in glee.
The ploughman hears and turns his head
Above to wonder why;
And there a new nest nearly made
Proclaims the winter by.