Last night, in the late twilight, but before it was dark enough for any stars to show, Venus blazed towards the western horizon with the crescent Moon and Jupiter nearby. This brought the approaching magic of the Midsummer season in spite of the coolness of the day. Yesterday began with rain but by evening the skies were a clear blue with hardly a cloud. Later, in the half-dark, I heard a night bird calling : a single note followed by a double note. What was it? Not an owl, though their calls are frequent through the woods across the valley at night. It haunted me to sleep. Today it is cloudy again. No rain, but the woodland soil is wet underfoot. The stream rushes down the valley edged along its wet banks and up the rocky sides with beds of golden saxifrage. I sit, as often, on the seat by the well and drift into summer on the sound of the rushing waters. The small garden by the well-side is in full bloom. The meadows are lush with green speckled with yellow buttercups. The wood greening to shade as the leaf cover fills the branches. The path from the well to the ancient yew winds through a deeper shade past the younger yew trees that surround it. As I emerge from the yew bower back into the light, Summer steals surreptitiously out of Spring.