After a day spent in the garden, which now begins to look tidy. I spent the evening writing letters and phoning isolated friends. Here in Yorkshire I can now breath deeply as the air is much cleaner. Empty roads allow solitude, whilst the shadows are deeper. So I listen to the bleating of the lambs, and the rustling of a hedgehog, as the smell of spring drifts on the air. No planes are scurrying overhead, I see the night sky as it should be. The hue of the night is magical, Jupiter so bright. John Ruskin (1819-1900) would approve.