...and one that has little do with the events down in London today. Norfolk has been turned into a green and verdant land by a mix of intense sunshine and early summer rain - meadows waist-high with grasses and cow parsley, trees with sufficient leaf to block both light and birds, and the River Yare decorated with lilies and the odd yellow iris. It is also adorned with damselflies, including the banded demoiselle:



Saskatchewan has been enduring snow warnings this week, but winter is half a year away here. Some birds have even raised their families - a chirping clutch of blue tit fledglings were loitering above a bird box yesterday morning while their parents scoured the trees for caterpillars.



Birdlife generally is super-abundant, but photographing it in the thick vegetation is always a challenge. No sooner do you get your camera focussed on something before it has ducked behind another stem. Even so, it's worth the attempt; the marshlands of the Yare Valley are home to several species that occur seldom to never in the North Downs. Reed buntings are tricky...



...but the warblers are worse We have many species here, including the rare and notoriously elusive cetti's, which I hear tinkling on most walks but rarely even glimpse

Kestrels, on the other hand, are quite obvious.



But the avian 'royalty' of this post is something quite different. Eagles do occur in Norfolk from time to time, but the mute swan - no matter how common a sight - is much more the dignitary in residence. And their smallest members know just the right way to enjoy the river



It even tried to catch up on its beauty sleep



But even a swan's dynasty can be marked by feudal infighting. This pair had four little ones, and the seat of comfort was contested.





There are also duties: lessons to be learned about the consumption of riverside food...



...and generally looking quite cute

I must be back in Norwich because rabbits are everywhere





But my Canadian photos are far from done, even if the trailcams are now taking well-deserved rests. My final morning in Grasslands National Park presented yet more surprises, not the least of which was a little squirrel with a smart attire on its back and soft sandy-grey on its legs:



It's a thirteen-lined ground squirrel, a smaller relation of this, the ubiquitious Richardson's ground squirrel, locally known as a gopher.



The thirteen-lined species is not common in the western block of the park, and it's the first one that I've ever happened across. They're better known from the remote eastern section, a wild land of twisted hoodoos and barely usable roads, rich in fossils and constantly battered by the wind. The blue haze on the horizon is north-eastern Montana, one of the least densely inhabited regions of the continental US.



The Killdeer badlands were the location of the first discovery of dinosaur remains in Canada, and their complex geology speaks of many eons of prehistory. But their name comes from something perhaps a little modest: a neatly-patterned prairie wader which is often seen trotting down the grid roads.



And if it fears for its nest, it does this: it holds out a wing as if broken, and tries to lure the predator away.



Of course, that is really the cue to leave the bird be. But back in the west block, sharp-tailed grouse are displaying for less anxious reasons. These beautiful birds spread their wings and perform a showy dance to attract mates.





In the UK, spring seems far more advanced, with many wildflowers adorning the meadows and the roads perfumed by white blossom. I haven't seen the otters yet, but it wouldn't be good for the trailcams to gather dust for too long