A mistle thrush sings its clear song from the apex of a pylon.
The blackbird outside our window started his more mellow, melodious song at 5.35 this morning.
A red-tailed bumble bee flies past us in the wood.
The ducklings, 12 of them, are still there on the marsh but there's no sign of the female. Perhaps the two mallard drakes have temporarily driven her off.
The sentinel lapwing is still on guard. He (I presume the female is sitting on the eggs) flies across the canal in front of us.
Later in the day it's insects rather than birds that seem most active. Small tortoiseshells chase away bumble bees and their butterfly rivals along a nettly lane-side verge. The nettle is the food-plant of their caterpillars.
Three bumble bees visit the catkins of a pussy willow.