Frogging

My sister, Claire stayed on with me for a night after the funeral, so yesterday I took her for a walk on the valley. She shares my superstition about magpies, so much surreptitious saluting took place followed by corresponding satisfaction at seeing a pair of them.
It was the hottest day of the year so far at 15 degrees, but with a really strong blustery wind, excellent clothes drying weather but the ideas I'd had about opening up the bee hives for their first Spring inspection had to be put away for another day.
On the valley, it would have been a good day to fly a kite. It was a lot greener than my last visit and there were little yellow flowers out ( probably celandines but I ought to check). By the railway line we saw a kestrel which flew past and perched for a long time in a tree. I had my binoculars with me but staring into the sun in a head wind, didn't make for good viewing.
We headed of course for the pond, where I was anxious to see if the kingfisher is still resident. If he is he didn't show himself nor did the heron that I occasionally see. The heron was missing out, as the pond was stuffed with frogs. The water was really clear and every few feet, was at least one frog, frequently mating in a shamelessly exhibitionist manner. We were staring at one tangle of frogs, trying to count the legs to work out if there was two or three involved when a dogwalker interrupted us. Claire hastily slipped her camera in her pocket and said that she felt almost like a pervert being caught staring at frog sex. The woman cheerfully remarked that they had named it Sex in the Valley and that coming down to the pond had given rise to a new activity, frogging.
Rosie has gone on an art trip to Berlin leaving me in sole charge of Oliver for a few days. I might introduce him to the joys of frogging later today.