Cathedral Courtyard in Bloom

I was surprised to find on my visit to the Cathedral Courtyard today, that the delicate, woody fingers of the tree branches had suddenly festooned themselves in tiny scraps of green and white. Each leaf a succulent green disc of Nature's juices, carefully separated from its fellows by a slender, brown stalk. The rough pathway was heavily strewn with the natural confetti of the blossom petals, as though the marriage of Mother Nature and Father Time had taken place within that very Cathedral.

It was not cool enough to need my overcoat, so I removed it, along with my Bowler to allow the sunlight to brighten my dull, gold hair. I felt like a black hole in the ground in comparison with the sprawling and encroaching green and white.

The frantic flapping of distressed feathers came to my ears. A bird had become trapped in the savage, green claws of the foliage. It probably wasn't used to all the greenery springing up everywhere. I was not sure I was used to it, either. The greenery which encroached upon the beautiful brown branches of the trees had obscured the soaring spire of the Cathedral from my sight at my usual vantage point of the North-West bench. Through the narrow gaps, however, I could discern the ten AM sun gilding the original Victorian architecture and lending a lustre to the hands and Roman numerals of the clock.

Surely, I thought to myself, the chime of the bells was less impressive as it had been when the cold weather had crisped the alloy. It was almost as if the potent toxicity of the psychedelic springtime had disorientated the bells, preventing them from performing at their best.

Despite all this, I was glad to see that the icy bondage of the winter months had melted to cool water. I could not repress a laugh as the huge furry blobs of bees buzzed around me with curiosity. Possibly, they were wondering what Welford Soar was doing, sitting in a patch of their pollen, scratching symbols onto a white sheet. Their clockwork buzz filled my ears, along with the sounds of the flying feathers and whistling beaks. The delicate chain of natural tunes from Nature's musical performers was upon me. What could I do but reach for my notebook and fountain pen?