A gentle bounce as the springy branch of ash briefly yielded, a modest swing before it steadied and the hammock was once again ready for the intense observation of nature. Words ceased to dance patterns in my mind, or at least slowed down. The Hammock Naturalist was hard at work again.

I had hardly begun to settle when it began. Cuckoo! Not the first time I had heard one this year at my place in Norfolk, but this time he was much closer and therefore much louder. Huzzah!

Though what I felt was not so much rejoicing as relief. They’re back. They’ve made it again, which means the globe’s still working… as Ted Hughes said of swifts. Cuckoos love this shallow valley, and their return was profoundly reassuring. Despair can be set aside. Summer is on its way.

Cuckoo! Not a sound that will give much pleasure to the dunnocks out there on the marsh, or to any other of the possible hosts, but nature is as complex emotionally as it is factually. I rejoiced in his return after a long and no doubt challenging nine months away: while mentally apologising to the dunnocks.

Sumer is incumen in! The cuckoo called again and I tried to remember all I could of the old song without looking it up. Lhude sing cuccu! Or loudly sing cuckoo if you prefer. We were taught the song at school, and inevitably the line that gave greatest pleasure was “bulloc sterteth bucke uerteth”, which translates as “the bullock leaps and the stag farts”.

Well, he would, wouldn’t he, being full of the spring grass and making as joyful as sound as the roguish cuckoo. Sing cuckoo! Ne swik thu nauer nu! Sing cuckoo and never bloody well stop! Precisely what that cuckoo is planning.