The world from my window

Outside the house of the suspected doggers, there is a discarded rubber glove and bits of of old tissue. Just down the road, the bronze nymph statue glints in the morning sun. Next door at Mr and Mrs Champagne-Charlie's, the house martins are in and out, in and out, feeding their squealing young. Up in the the field, curious young heifers and steers creep up behind dog walkers and shout: 'Moo!' All through the night, the tractors and trailers have been hard at work, trundling through the village with heavy loads of silage. They have been harvesting like ants, bringing in the silage before the rains come. A faint hum on the hillside - both in noise and smell - and lights like alien spaceships landing on Bluebell Hill. The maize begins to shoot on its long journey to becoming higher than an elephant's eye. Oh what a beautiful morning. That's about it. Love Maddie x

The world rushes on around me. We have Indiana Brown on his Last Crusade dealing with the fallout from his very silly ' bigoted woman ' remark (only the penitent man will pass Gordon, and you've still got the leap of faith to go), and politicians of all sides queuing up to have a pop at the weary leader. Meanwhile, in Greece, the economy is in tatters and Germany holds the purse strings. But as I walk my dogs this morning, a sound fills me with such joy I know that, whatever happens, all is well with the world. The unmistakable voice of the cuckoo. Her call has not been heard here for years. It makes me smile. The cuckoo flowers are washing the fields with drifts of pink, the bluebells are coming out on the banks and in the woods. And the swallows and house martins dart in and out of the square, chattering as they go. A pair of Brent geese flap by, pointing out places of interest along the way. All we are waiting for is the ceremonial unveiling of the bronze nymph who welco...