Country diary: A Wordsworthian moment, golden and dancing | Kate Blincoe

The warm weather and sunshine of the recent “fool’s spring” turned up the volume on the chattering sparrows in the yard and brought the first bees of the season out in search of nectar in the crocuses. A meadow on the far side of the road has dried out enough to tread across without sinking into mud. Yet I’m walking oddly, a sort of hop, skip, jump. Surely it’s a crime to stand on an orchid? I am surrounded by little clusters of unremarkable-looking green leaves. They are bee orchids, and there are uncountable thousands in this field. Hidden underground

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