Out for a hill climb yesterday, arrangements have been somewhat fluid, to say the least, of late, but we made the most of a beautifully clear day to ascend Vane Hill and sup coffee thereon.  At a conservative estimate it was blowing in gusts of 40 mph at the top, my drink went from boiling to tepid in a very short space of time.

Vane Farm, or RSPB Loch Leven as it will insist, could possibly be named for the resident lapwing, since you all know its Latin name is Vanellus vanellus.  This leads on to a very funny (to me) joke which paraphrases a John Donne poem but which no-one else seems to find in the least bit amusing, so I shan’t repeat it here.   Eheu.  Anyway, the reds (Sciurus vulgaris) were at the peanut feeders, much to the birds’ disgust, and the Whoopers were on the flood.

Thank you to everyone for their gifts and kindness but more especially for sharing the days.  Thoughts are with those who are saddened.

Chasing Sunlight is the song which is my earworm just now.