Tag Archives: Spring
Feathery tendrils gently cup the nut-brown seeds. The bearded remnants of summer fruits, filling the hedgerow with their snowy whiteness. Soon, they will fly off to find more fertile ground, ready to spring up renewed.
Everything is dripping from recent rain. The new Spring leaves and flowers are heavy with water. Yet there is still that fresh, expectant green of a Spring garden, waiting to burst into its Summer glory.
They catch insects in their beaks, barely touching the river’s rushing surface. Dipping and diving, they carry Spring on their wings.
On the curve of the path, it hits my eyes like a firework. A Spring explosion of white blossom against a cloud-blank sky.
Twig by twig I’ve seen it appear, fat and pendulous in the bare branches of the tree. A magpie perches on its sturdy edge, looking proud and strong. His chicks will be safe here, all Spring long.
The family gather at our dining table. Its rickety, wooden everyday-ness is transformed. Love and laughter bloom, and food is shared. Spring is here, despite the cold outside.
A new, bright white against the grey dregs of winter. They stand by their mothers, whose coats seem dirty, yellowing beside the freshness of their offspring. They remind me that Spring is on its way. Battling against the wind and … Continue reading
It trumpets its yellow presence to the world, releasing a scent like honey. Triumphantly, it heralds the arrival of Spring, as the last of the winter sun sets it glowing.
Its dark, evergreen branches seem dusted with red buds. Its branches move in the wind, like a flamenco dancer swishing her skirt.