There was a dead thrush on the path. It showed no sign of injury. Birds don't usually give up the ghost in plain sight. Might it have had a heart attack?
I forget we have rhubarb until I actually see the clump. This morning I picked some.
I transplanted a birch sapling from the field to the bed which- until Matthew went through it like the Golden Horde- was full of overgrown currants and raspberry canes. I've no idea if it will take, but there's nothing lost if it doesn't- and that bit of ground needs to acquire purpose.