It was a beautiful evening. The domed hills south of Aberaeron were rendered in warm hues by the last of the sunset, the light breaking below the layered cloud casting long shadows of trees and hedgerows across the fields. But turning eastwards at Synod Inn reminded me that this was no casual evening jaunt, as my son drove me into the gathering dusk to a hospital a hundred miles distant – the unexpected result of a sudden phone call from a concerned consultant. A couple of weeks later I am back on my home turf, chastened and facing some new and uncomfortable realities – but with renewed respect for the good folk of the NHS, who may just have saved my life for the third time. In my absence, spring has continued unabated, with the lambs noticeably larger and stockier than when I left. At the margins of the lane, the celandines have almost been displaced by the large, sturdy flowers of the dandelion – some of which have already set seed and begun their familiar, if not always welcome, aerial dispersion. Through the open back door, the song of the nearest robin is clear and incisive, carrying over the lower – more measured – tones of various resident blackbirds. Just where two hedgerows collide in a blur of tangled growth, one pair of blackbirds claims a nest site established over several seasons. Already, the male bird has been seen carrying beakfuls of worms into this spot, making his defensive feelings clear to any who wander too close. We await developments. Further up the lane, small clumps of primrose and violet bring vivid points of colour to the banks, where the grass is beginning to overtake the winter ground cover of ivy leaves. In the still air, the sound of water trickling from field drains seems overly loud as it merges with the calmer surface of the stream. Emerging from the canopy of trees, I pause by the gate that leads to the top field. For the first time this year, the metal is warm to the touch – and, suddenly weary, I lean my body against the gate and feel the welcome heat of the spring sunshine on my back. Tomorrow, I’ll walk further.