With each subsequent year I get the feeling at Easter that we are celebrating a dying god reborn with the emergence of spring. That is to say, the cyclic nature of life. Maybe I am just becoming a pagan. At any rate, the weather in this part of Portugal is rather wet right now. Even if visitors weren’t forbidden to come on account of coronavirus, they wouldn’t have much joy by way of sun-worshipping on the beaches. Not that nature minds. The rain and increasing heat means that seeds we planted a short while ago – beans and peas, lettuce and spinach, radishes and artichokes – are all working their way up from the soil into the light. Meanwhile, back in Bucks you may find this carving made by a pupil of Eric Gill hanging high and hidden in the beech forest near Hughenden Valley.