Sunday

I was driving out in the country on Friday afternoon and, although it wasn't the best of days, weather wise, there were signs of spring everywhere.  Some of the trees, hedges and bushes were covered with a green 'fuzz', swelling buds increasing ready to pop open and reveal the baby leaves within.  There were flowers beside the road and I do love this modern tradition of flinging bulbs on the grass verges and leaving them to grow.  They added such welcome splashes of colour as I drove along.

At home, the snowdrops are over but the daffodils and the hyacinths are opening now and my small clump of tiny, shy-blue scillas are also coming up.  My clump of bluebells (proper bluebells) are making good progress, the strawberry plants are sending out new growth, the blueberry bushes, new last year, have tiny leaves and even the tayberry that refuses to die is working its usual magic and showing that, once again, it's alive and kicking.  I might even get some fruit from it this year, you never know.  That's the lovely thing about gardens, even tiny ones like mine.  Hope is always there; hope and magic.

Yesterday I watched a blackbird gathering material for his nest.  He had a large piece of something - straw, twig, dry grass, I couldn't quite see what - and was obviously having trouble balancing it in his beak before flying off with it.  He tackled the task with utter determination and was rewarded finally as he flew off triumphantly with it.

It may snow next weekend but I don't care.  Spring is all around and the more we look, the more we see.  British Summer Time has well and truly come!