Time, like an ever-rolling stream

Two weeks of steady work in unexpected early-spring sunshine have achieved a slight improvement in things. Most of the work has been structural: raised beds constructed, earth moved, rubbish cleared, structures repainted and a pattern imposed on the place. Just as planting had started the weather closed down, and although there's been a little much-needed rain the sleet and snow that followed has not been what the blossom on the newly-planted fruit bushes need.

Maybe next week will be more clement, and more plants can be bedded in.

Whilst we were working away we were entertained by the birdlife: a buzzard; herons from the nearby stream, flocks of small tweeters and an opportunistic sparrowhawk, perching slateblue and speckled off-white on a water butt opposite.

Progress can be measured in many ways: I haven't found a scale to measure this.

Less than an acre, and no mule

A little bit of real estate, as one might say - although the reality of this estate is that it's going to take some work to transform it from the fanciful illusion floating around inside my head into the reality that others can recognise.

Still: the rubbish is slowly disappearing, although there's always that worried feeling that I might be discarding something that is going to be absolutely vital in another couple of weeks. The pile of dust in the shed is reducing, the fractured greenhouse becomes more skeletal and the earth more bare with each visit.

But life has suddenly become more tranquil, knowing that some things can not be rushed.

That's my rationale.