On the quiet stretch of the river above the weir, a pair of Mute Swans are still accompanied by their two grey cygnets. On the little island, back to its normal dimensions now that the river has resumed what used to be its normal level, a Moorhen stalks past two Mallard drakes who are standing there snoozing, their beaks tucked under their wing.
As it gets towards sunset, a Robin sings a thin version of its spring song. Mistle Thrushes are calling in a way which is beginning to resemble the rudiments of song. The song seems a bit thin at the moment. I think it will have more carrying power as spring progresses.