Only a couple of days of bright warmth causes the mind to race to spring days, weave through the daffodils, join a surge of life that swells in each plant and in the breast of every bird. Then onwards amongst the full deciduous canopies of summer pierced with the lazy sunlight and enriched by the smell of fresh mown grass and the taste of greenhouse tomatoes.
But for now we can settle for a few buds on some bare sticks and fresh green shoots of daffodil bulbs as they wake from their winter sleep to pop their heads and with a nudge to their neighbors ask ‘is it spring yet?’ The frosty mornings are still welcome, ice on the pond floats between visiting ducks. The pouring rain and strong winds that batter at the walls and ceiling of the volunteer centre. Even the warmth of summer can’t always compare to work in the cold mud followed by a heated room, a cuppa, and a biscuit.