Walking the dogs this morning requires wellington boots, two sweaters, hat, gloves and my old dark blue, now threadbare cashmere M&S coat.
We push our way through knee-high sodden grass at the edge of Philippe's and Alain's fields, the winter wheat now lush and full of rain drops. Small shafts of tepid sunlight break through the heavy grey clouds. Nightingales and wrens shout from every bush.
We cross the stream and turn towards the pond on the edge of the wood, where an orange tent has mysteriously appeared. Hardly camping weather!
And then - the first liquid notes high above our heads, hidden in the topmost branches of the copse of poplar trees, only ever heard and never seen - a golden oriole brings the promise of long, warm summer evenings.
Call of the Eurasian Golden Oriole
The Wonderful Bird Website - Oiseaux.net