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  • To Mourn a Nightingale.

    April has to be one of my favourite months in the Bourgogne. It is when the “beautiful days” start in earnest, when the Nightingales return and when the colsa is flowering. It is when I do things that many people will regard as being rather strange, such as sitting outside at four thirty in the morning, with a tray of tea, listening to a dozen Nightingales singing their predawn territorial chorus from across the river in front of my house.