I’m sitting in my writing hour.
I face the wall, as recommended by Stephen King (On Writing), but I can see the window. Yesterday, it was light when I woke Mr HB up at seven. It’s dark today at six when I let the cat out. So I think: it’s still dark. It’s Winter.
Then a click clacking starts outside, see-saw cawing, carking and crooking.
It’s the rooks. Flying past the top corner of my window, large black hankies sharp against a grey clouded sky. A group, then another batch, then more. For the first time this year, leaving home for work at daybreak, just like we do. And I know.
Finally. 
It’s Spring.
It’s getting lighter.
I live somewhere where birds fly past the window all the time.
And then I realise there are fewer of them every year.
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Reblogged this on Crooked Cats' Cradle and commented:
Stella Hervey Birrell blogs today about the arrival of Spring. An annual event worthy of a blog, more so (apparently) than Valentines or Christmas?
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Don’t be too disheartened by the paucity of rooks – there are problems with counting them. For they quite often fly behind another rook so you’re counting one instead of two or three or more. And sometimes they deliberately fly behind you so you can’t see them.
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Ha ha! Thanks Steve. Sneaky old rooks…
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