Stroll with Spring

I'm strolling up Scotland with the Spring.

Here in the Scottish Borders (I'm just South West of Galashiels, camped in a wee corner of woodland), Spring is the song of the skylarks who wake me each morning, it's the gravelly drone of the big bumble bee who inspects my tent for nectar, it's the egg-yolk flowering of acres of gorse, the delicate primroses, rich blue-mauve wild hyacinths, and wild garlic that line the forest paths, and of course here, in sheep country, it's the jumpy wee lambs, running to their ewe when a quadruped* human with his home on his back strolls past. 

 

 

Borders bluebells

 

It's Spring in the sky too, and in Scotland that means blue sky, immediately followed by a rain shower, a blast of icy wind, and then brilliant sunshine. Often in under 10 minutes. You end up putting on sun-screen and an anorak, just to be sure. Welcome to Scotland. 

*I'm using walking poles; what a great invention!