Sparrows chirping, cocks crowing, blackbirds singing in the clear air, all as we wake up. There is a plenitude of sparrows. Later they will churn about in noisy groups of apparent fury which suddenly start and abruptly finish as they all hop off for more excitement somewhere else. Whatever happened to British sparrows? There are never enough for a real hoe-down sparrow scrum such as this.

Last night the owls exchanged their haunting cries. Their potency increased as we watched the full moon and the array of powerful planets... portending what? Not a question for a beautiful spring day in Las Alpujarros.

Now we sit on a small hillock, looking up at the snow-capped Sierra Nevada. Space and fine air is all around, filled with the scents of spring. There is sage, thyme, lavender and rosemary. Jostling with the rosemary is broomsrape, a difficult-to-like flower. A parasite depending on its host for chlorophyll, it needs no leaves.

Clumps of flower-heads push up through the day earth, butting aside sand and stones. The flowers are a dried-up brown colour with a redeeming tinge of dull pink, but the bees still come and go; someone loves them.

More cheerful are the plants, which feed themselves. There are lots of plantains hurrying to open their small flowers before summer bakes them. Everything is rushing to flower and seed. Fields of poppies, daisies of all kinds turn eagerly towards the sun. Some resemble dandelions, with a dark brown circle at the petal foot and a brown stripe on the underside. The stamen is brown with a little powdery yellow top. The colours are almost Buddhist.

We revisit the retreat centre at Osoling, about 1,600m above the sea. The place, the peace, the views make it as much a thought challenge as the night sky. We hear a cuckoo and a true story. When the first motor arrives at Pitros in a neighbouring valley, it stops and steams.