Small pleasures

At the time of writing winter is still calling the shots. The drizzle is falling steadily outside in the garden and the landscape beyond is dominated by dull browns and greys. At this time of year the excitement of the snowdrop season can give way to a lull before the barrage of spring blossom gets under way. The big picture still remains a little bleak. Even the daffodils have proved shy this year, reflected in the rising wholesale prices for these cheerful blooms as the Welsh saint fires a blank at the start of their season. 

The occasional bright warm day though reminds us that there is sunlight at the end of the chilly tunnel we seem to have endured for so many weeks, and look closely and you will find signs in the garden of the latent potential waiting to be unleashed. Spring is coiled and ready.

Apart from the mass of white or yellow, seen on weekend pilgrimages to old halls or occasionally glimpsed through open gates into secret gardens beyond, you have to work hard for small pleasures at this time of year. A conscious effort, cup of tea in hand and woolly hat on head, is required but will probably be rewarded. Out there, in the garden, buds are swelling and shoots are firing.

The climbing rose is sprouting crimson and green, and is are already away by two inches, and the late flowering clematis, looking every inch a dead thing, has on closer inspection also made a break. This is a call to action, and any thought that this leisurely amble around the garden was simply a romantic whim is dispelled. Hard as it might seem all that promise will have to be ruthlessly cut back. Not so the furry buds of the magnolia that are swelling expectantly outside the front door, and the catkins that dangle from the hazel. They can be left to it and enjoyed.    

The forecast is for snow and ice again at the weekend but while we may be wondering whether winter will ever end the wildlife knows otherwise. The field beyond the garden seems energised. A big dog fox (not seen for a few years and looking a bit older and more stirred in the fur) was spotted trotting along the hedgerow at midday and the rabbits have tentatively begun their circular frolicking. It is the birds though that give the game away. Sparrow Towers (the neighbour’s hedge) is in commotion, collectively engaged in deterring an inquisitive blackbird, or perhaps just having a debate. The great tits are leaping over the garden fence like Olympic hurdlers and the wood pigeons are commuting this way and that with just a little bit more urgency than usual.

At the time of reading, hopefully the coiled spring will have sprung.