I have baby birds on my mind as I set off into the woods this morning.

Our blue tits fledged earlier this week and as the families before them flew straight into the oak tree opposite our house. I was pleased to see them all make this first survival milestone successfully but it seems very quiet at the front of the house now.

Having lived with the demanding rasping call coming from our nest box I’m very tuned into this pitch and think I can hear the same call coming from every other tree and bush I walk past.

Alongside the old railway track I find a patch of sweet woodruff coming into flower. I can’t smell a vanilla scent but I expect that’s because there are only a very small number of flowers at this point.

Three mountain-bikers are manoeuvring their bikes out of the woods through the kissing gate as I leave.  I ask them very nicely to please not cycle in the woods as it’s both a nature reserve and particularly suffering at the moment from trampling.  They listen politely and nod but I hear quiet laughter as I walk off. It’s always worth a try.