A fresh start

lambs

I remember when I was a very little girl there was a fairy story my mother read to me. It told of how the fairies painted the sticky buds on the trees to protect the baby leaves from the frost. I thought of that tale when the dog and I were out for our pre-dawn wander. The buds are swelling, and reaching up, sure enough the tight little buds are sticky with sap.

There were celandines in the wood this morning, a sheltered little patch that seems to have stolen a march on spring. Their tiny, glossy petals were barely beginning to unfold their fragility to the dawn, but the brilliant yellow that showed against the green offered a promise.

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There is promise in the sunshine today too. Not much warmth yet, but the skies are blue and bright, with a possibility, a mere hint, of warmer days to come. As the frost recedes and the green shows more vividly across the landscape, there is a little vernal vibrancy tingling in the air.

The birds are busy collecting stray fluff and feathers, early lambs and the odd calf gambol in the fields or snuggle close to Mum for warmth. It is a typical moment of the turning of the tides. In spite of iced ponds and bitter winds, you can almost feel the sap rising.

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I love these moments where you can see the turning of the wheel, the cycle of life in motion. Spring may slide into summer with barely a noise, but the change from winter to spring comes with a fanfare, a riot of colour. For now Spring is waiting in the wings. We, the audience, hear the occasional rustle, catch an odd whisper of the glimpse of a golden skirt as she prepares for the raising of the curtain. It is all poised, hushed and eager to begin.

It is a season of births and beginnings and we ourselves feel and respond to the changing seasons. It is a rather nice feeling to be aligned with the forces of Nature in this way, waiting for the sun to come in and light everything, painting it gold and filling it with warmth and life. It feels right that this should be the moment where tomorrow begins.

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Sue Vincent is a Yorkshire-born writer with a camera. She has written a number of books, both alone and with Stuart France, exploring ancient myths, the mysterious landscape of Albion and the inner journey of the soul. She is owned by a small dog who also blogs. Find her at scvincent.com and on Twitter @SCVincent.