At last, the hawthorn is flowering. For me, a still sunny afternoon, listening to flies buzzing, wood pigeons cooing, and smelling the heavy perfume of the may tree is the absolute essence of early summer - something to savour and dream about in the depths of winter.
The old saw "Ne'er cast a clout till May be out" has debatable meaning: should be keep our woollies on till the end of the month, or till the blossom appears? This year, I tend to the latter, though it's not always the case.
