The butter-coloured fly

I put the trap out on Friday night and woke up to find the garden rhimed with frost. Not a soul had slept in the eggboxes. It is interesting how cold stops flying at this time of year.

Yesterday in the daytime was another matter on in beautifully warm sunlight on the Chiltern hills, Penny and I saw our first butterflies of 2020, apart from the occasional hibernator such as the Peacock which enlivened morning service at church three weeks ago.

Both were Brimstones, the first in the churchyard at Nettlebed and the second amid the trees of the Warburg nature reserve, a woody dry valley which boasts no fewer than 15 species of wild orchid. The familiar yellow species with its smart, slightly-hooked wings, is a favourite suspect for the etymology of the word 'butterfly' - first in the season and therefore a matter of note, and butter-coloured (although the male is actually more lemony).

Let's hope that they were a good omen. But in any event, we had a lovely walk - pic above - and were pleased to see the countryside fuller of ramblers than usual, no doubt because of all the other current virus restrictions on daily life.