The birds were being modest for good reason, writes Damien Enright

The lapidary line of the tubercular John Keats is almost a cliché — “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,” writes Damien Enright.

KNOTWEED is flowering, those beautiful, lacy flowers that first won the hearts of the ladies and gents of Victorian England. 

HERE, on the coast, we have sometimes had fog for days, while inland the sun is shining out of china-blue skies. 

On a visit to Manchester, I could not help but notice how numerous and diverse was the wildlife in my son’s back garden in Sale, Altrincham.

We in the West are meat-eating, milk-drinking people, but were farmers or ranchers obliged to compensate for the carbon emissions of their herds, they would be bankrupted. 

The weather has improved; the butterflies are flying.