Springtime is for stealing

 

Dear London Pigeon,

Any sign of your missing frogspawn? Because exactly the same thing happened here. No sooner had spring sprung than the spawn sank. At least, I think that’s what happened as it ALL VANISHED. We were very distressed. We too suspected the fish. But a tense month or so later, hundreds of tadpoles appeared around the shallow edges of the pond. And then, naturally, I did what all sensible people do… I stole some.

Because spring, I’ve realised, is all about stealing.

In winter, living in the countryside is actually quite horrible. It is very cold and very wet and it’s not like the cold and wet stays outside, like it does in cities; this cold uncomfortable wetness INVADES YOUR HOUSE. My toes have been bitten by cold as I’ve slept. My floor disappears beneath a sea of muddy footprints. My nose turns red and stays that way from November to February and the log fire only pretends to give out heat whilst really warming its selfish self. So I see spring as PAYBACK TIME. Nature owes me.

It owes me in the form of tadpoles swimming about my kitchen in the old fish tank, tails jauntily waggling. It owes me in great bunches of bluebells snatched from the woods when no one is looking. It owes me in cow parsley snaffled from the roadside and bowls of floating yellow dandelion heads before they start telling the time. It owes me in forget-me-nots and primroses and unfurling ferns and anything else I can gather up from outside and squash into a jam jar so I can say, “yes, living in the countryside was a really good idea.”

I am a spring thief, just like your greedy carp.

 

 

 

 

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