Everything is remarkably early and of trees only the ash is not in full leaf. There is very little May blossom, only a scanty spray here and there, but it is fully opened and by June 1, it will be fading. The rowans are in perfection of blossom, and scent the hedgeways but nothing makes up for a dearth of hawbreck.
The whitebeam — two weeks ago silvery white with its half expanded leaves — is ready to burst into flower. My table is adorned with delicate branches of the bird-cherry, pendulous drupes of fairy white scenting the room. I gathered them from a tree that had been cut and laid to mend a fence.