Feels like August, not April

We turn off the underfloor heating and open all the cottage doors and windows to try to catch a cooling breeze.

As I make supper, I watch Monsieur F planting his maize in the late afternoon sun.  His tractor kicks up dust and turns just beyond our lawn. We wave companionably to each other.

Black redstarts blunder in through open doors looking for nesting places and have to be coaxed gently out again, into the heat.

I wander up to the house to hunt for summer T-shirts and light weight trousers.  All my clothes in the cottage are meant for chilly days.

Nightingales sing in the shade of the woodland by the stream.

We open up the swimming pool, turning back the winter cover to reveal clear water.  Good.  As the temperature rises there is a risk that the pool goes green, but not this year.

Late spring flowers burst into colour and then fade too quickly.

We talk about moving back up to the house.  Suddenly its cool rooms and shady veranda feel welcoming.