It was a couple of weeks ago now, and there was a wonderful bursting of sunshine and warmth. Those hedgerows which then were grey and twiggy now have a haze of white blackthorn and green hawthorn. But then, just those few weeks ago, the earliest snowdrops were fading and brighter colours beginning to show.
I found them in a country churchyard, those fading snowdrops lighting the dark earth and the daffodils, the turning of winter to spring.
Such colour and scent, earthy and sweet, full of delight and the joy of knowing that all that hidden, resting life is ready to thrust to life once more. All this life, packed away and constantly preparing to be!
And then, wandering and clambering over roots and rotting things, there they are, sticks and twigs and old branches, still full of beauty, sinking into the woodland floor. But growing, always growing, are the nettles and poking weeds and the constant workings of bugs and insects, worms and wood lice, invisible but regenerating life all around.
I love it all! There are no words sufficient to tell the story.
Those warm days have gone and it’s wet, windy early March; but the warmth will come again and the wandering and all the discoveries which never end. Over the bridge and the beck, across the ploughed fields … next time, maybe there’ll be true warmth on my back.