The lateness of this summer fills me with some foreboding. Nearly the middle of May and still no swallows, martins or swifts. And I haven't seen a bat, though I heard today that they are out nearby — or one is.
And I haven't heard a cuckoo yet either, though we've been walking far and wide locally this past week.
My worry is that if the migrants are so late arriving, they and their offspring will be as late leaving, when the weather will be changing and their food supplies dwindling so that the birds cannot fuel themselves adequately for their transcontinental flights home. They will be trapped here to die.
Not a cheery thought.