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THE VALLEY is waterlogged. Long puddles lie on tracks and footpaths. Flashes have formed again in the fields, in places where they might linger until Easter. Streams and river are swollen by rushing brownish waters. Debris has blocked an outlet to the river so the stream overflows into the canal, which is also brownish and up on its normal level.
We notice more and more trees that were damaged in the storm.
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It's dim, sliding towards darkness, even though it's not quite four o'clock. A Mistle Thrush flies out from the towpath thorn hedge. A little further along Redwings are gathering in the hedges, as if to roost. But their flight movements can continue into the night; a friend heard their calls as they flew over our garden on bonfire night (
I'm sorry to see an old Sycamore has been felled next to the filling station. When the sapling sprouted, perhaps around the time of the Second World War, the area around the river bridge was a greener place.