There’s a painted lady basking on the footpath. Her orange, black-tipped, white-spotted wings, a little worn after her long journey, blend with shadows and sun-flecks on heatwave-baked mud, so she’s almost under our feet before she takes flight. And here’s another, nectaring on a dandelion; and another; then several more. I can’t recall ever seeing so many so early in the year.
Waiting for the arrival of these migrant butterflies is akin to anticipating the first swallow. Tantalising mid-April sightings from Wales and Cumbria were reported on social media, but we waited until mid-May before finding our first in Weardale.
