Nothing symbolises the joy of spring so much to me as the tumbledown flight of the lapwing.
An exuberant, ritual, fall to earth, an excess of energy and good health on display for anyone who cares to see.
It shouts, ‘I am fit, I am full of life, I am a fluting, dipping, zippity, zappity picture of vibrancy. I am a jinking splendour, a bloody wonder, mate with me.’
Earth bound creature that I am, I can only plod below in heavy boots and watch.
The lapwings defy gravity, making me want to whoop alongside them, to twirl in the air with the thrill of life.
“Gloria, Gloria,” they seem to call. “Praise be. I have lived through the winter. I am alive. I am still here. To see another spring.”