For the past few weeks, the local pheasant population seems to have settled down: all the shifting of allegiances over, and the hens in their harems. We've had regular visits of five hens and a cock to the bird table, but yesterday and today, there are only four hens. I hope the missing one has found another husband - but I'm afraid she has much more likely been run over by a car, or eaten by a fox. (There are some small shoots round here, but I haven't heard them over the weekend.)

The picture shows "Phil" - a semi-tame pheasant who was around two years ago and came every day to take corn or layer's pellets from the hand, every afternoon when I fed the pony. This year's crop are much more skittish, and run away when I go out to put corn down for them (crests comically raised in the hens, or the cock squawking loudly.)

[update, 06/03/2007]: It seems my little friend was just off for a dirty weekend or two with another man: she is back with her friends again. Other man has a broken tail and looks quite disconsolate!

Despite the promised sleet or snow tonight and increasingly grey skies, there is a definite feel of the turning of the seasons here: probably rather prematurely. Squirrels are busy chasing each other through the trees with carnal intent and showering hazel pollen into the air; the dawn chorus is getting stronger and stronger each morning. From a single primrose on the hedgebank on Sunday to a fair sprinkling all along the lane today, and the first glossy golden celandine and a few early dandelions.

Yellow in all its variety is the fashionable colour at this time of year: we have lambs' tails and gorse too. (There is a country saying that 'when gorse is out of flower, kissing is out of fashion'!)

On Saturday, I heard a lark singing high in the sky for the first time this year. The same yesterday and this morning: and probably every day from now on till the summer unless the weather is very rough.

I can't tell you how much this lifted my spirits: the song of the skylark is one of the glories of the English countryside. I know birds sing for territorial reasons - but to listen to this exuberant torrent of song, it's hard not to believe they are glad to be alive!

Ralph Vaughan Williams probably thought so too: you can hear a clip from his wonderful piece for violin and orchestra here: choose The Lark Ascending.

Did you do the RSPB's Big Garden Birdwatch at the weekend? I did, and this is what I recorded on Sunday morning after I'd put out the bird food:

• 1 blackbird hen and 1 nuthatch
• 2 each of bluetits, chaffinches, dunnocks, great tits, robins and pheasants
• 3 each of coaltits and magpies
• 5 greenfinches

We normally have at least 6 pheasants (five hens and a cock) and three blackbirds (two hens and a cock) around at feeding time - so typically they decided to stay away while I was looking for them. I also know there are wrens, crows, rooks and thrushes about, and we often have buzzards and gulls flying over. But I was pleased the nuthatch put in an appearance as he often stays away.