Howard Hughes meets Henry David Thoreau

The little microcosm that is my back garden is thriving.  This morning, a new birds nest was under construction in the ivy wall.  Across the way, in a large hedge, the faint peeps of baby birds twittered as the mother flicked in and out of the foliage with worms.  The lacy heads of purple carrots have emerged.  Wild bluebells have spread to spectacular effect.  A giant allium is just beginning its tall catwalk in partial bloom.  New baby grass beckons.

Pandemics and economics have left this little patch of paradise untouched.  There is nothing more delightful than eating breakfast whilst watching a starling build its nest.  If you could cross Howard Hughes with Henry David Thoreau, that is where I am at this morning.  Panic and denial have both seized the wheel.  Isn't there another choice of driver available?