The blackbird is singing from the crab apple, the chiff-chaff more or less continuous from the blackthorn at the edge of the wood. There’s an occasional wood pigeon calling softly in the background and raucous sparrows erupting every now and then in the holly and hawthorn hedge.
It’s sunny with a bit of a breeze; an male orange tip is the only butterfly I spot as I draw.
Spanish bluebell behind the pond has now gone to seed. The lungwort has gone to seed and is wilting in the sun.