The signs are there, peeking through fence posts and pockets of woodland if you know where to look. At roadsides, at paths, patches in trees and through old stone walls, moss covered and crumbling. The bird song fills the air at certain points of the day, such as now, and makes for a cheerier disposition for anyone. I do not think I would like to live in a place where you could not hear church bells announce the hour or the birdsong is not predominant to the human noise in the morning. The racket we as a species must make to the animal world. It must be appalling.
But these signs of spring are not fully there yet. We are into March now and the ground is still wet and muddy, the sky thick with cloud, the rain complete. Its light, but it’s not bright. There is no sun. We’d need to go high up on the EasyJet to Paris to see it today. Bleak, wet, muddy, so many months of our year look like this. The small things, the reminders we need to look for closely in the hope the weather will eventually change and our moods will be lifted. The buds on the tree, the snowdrops in the woods, the birdsong in the air. The change in temperature? Not likely, bloody freezing the last few days!