5:12 am. The cuckoo starts the morning chorus. The little wrens that nest in the wisteria by the front door join in . Bob and Sophie are quick to follow. A medley of yelps, whines, half swallowed barks, snorts , squeaks and drumming paws telling us that this is going to be the most wonderful of days.
The baker has burnt a batch of croissants. His wife comes out onto the pavement from behind the counter and produces half a dozen small pieces from her apron pocket. Bob and Sophie munch happily away. Bob has a look on his face that tells you that there is nothing to beat a bit of burnt croissant.
Home to find that one of the little wrens has fallen out if its nest. Bob, the gentlest of creatures, cocks his head and looks at it. Sophie, surprisingly, joins her brother in silent contemplation. The first dent in their innocence ? I pick the little thing up and carry it into the cherry orchard . Bob and Sophie follow on behind . A simple long forgotten line from a story read many, many years ago suddenly comes to mind : '' A heart no bigger than an orange seed has ceased to beat ". A fitting epithet for this tiniest and most retiring of beings.
We fold the pool net and store it in the barn. This activity is a source of great delight.