The first wheatears have returned to the islands, and chiffchaffs and willow warblers are beginning to pass through on their spring journeys. A bright and sunny morning seems the perfect time to look for the newly arrived travellers. A short car tour and a lengthy walk turn up not even a fleeting glimpse of a wheatear's white rump, and so we set off for Airidh nam Ban in the hope of at least hearing a chiffchaff among the trees there even if we don't see one.
In the wood there is plenty of bird activity. Two robins are engaged in a musical duel, chaffinches flit from branch to branch plinking and chinking constantly. A wren adds its ringing notes and carrying trill. But there is neither sight nor sound of a chiffchaff. Farther into the wood a small, tree-lined gully descends the hillside, rowans guarding its entrance. A tangle of blackthorn grows in the sheltered "v" and the first scattering of white flowers star its dark uncompromising branches.
I cannot resist a closer look at what is one of my favourite sights of the season and make my way up the gully along the path that in summer will disappear under brambles and bracken. And beside the path I find a miniature garden of spring flowers. Low to the grass is a single primrose and several bright celandines. Here is a clump of delicate wood sorrel, the fragile shamrock-like leaves folded back on themselves and the white petals with their tracery of veins appearing almost translucent. Two patches of the most richly purple violets I have seen for years lie nearby.
So thrilled am I by the boldness of the violets and the contrasting delicacy of the wood sorrel that the search for chiffchaffs has been almost forgotten, but as we leave the wood a hidden bird begins a tentative round of the familiar two-note song before lapsing back into silence.