I have probably mis-quoted Dylan Thomas here, but “The Force that Through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower” is just so apt at this time of year.
A birch tree that was felled after Christmas is still pumping sap up from its roots, and making a sculpture like a melting candle of sticky sap.
The horse chestnut leaves have all opened and are hanging down like perfect green paper lanterns. The leaves are like newly-emerging butterfly wings hanging out to dry in the sun. The crinkled softness, creased in the sticky buds, almost transparent, almost edible.
And the pale primroses are now fully out.
Spring has just changed gear.