It's been a long Winter hasn't it. You think it's about to leave the stage and back it sashays in defiance of its audience's wishes. Spring skulks in the wings.
No Spring doesn't skulk. Wrong word.
I went out into our garden yesterday and had a good look around. The first in months. My poor garden bravely wore its winter scars with pride.
I found some Snowdrops I didn't know we had. They were hiding and almost seemed to smile at me when I found them as though to say, 'Sh, don't tell Winter'.
So I didn't.
Crocus bulbs are pushing their way through with less discretion.
No Spring doesn't skulk. She forces her way in and will win.
From now on I will watch the hedgerows, especially the Hawthorn as they lose their Winter grey coats and take on what at first is almost imperceptible; a yellow-green veil. A hue so delicate that it can only be seen in a certain light before it deepens into something else.
I like to feel that I am the first one to see this secret show; this foretaste of all the vibrancy of Spring in full flow.