Go away cold front! You’re not welcome here. Stop pelting Spring’s bright flowers with your little rocks of fear. This is the weather for April or March – leave May alone! Blow away! Quick march! We’re tired of your hail and single figure degrees. Leave us alone now! Give Spring some peace! We’re ready for coatless days and fine firepit nights… let us have our sunshine – give up your fight!
More than half the world’s bluebells grow in the UK so don’t ever miss out on enjoying them in May. Make sure you set aside at least one day to walk among their fabulous, fragrant array.
You’ll find them growing wild in all our ancient woods but why not plant their bulbs in every built-up neighbourhood? Then they can do each citizen the power of good – transforming the mundane with exquisite Wedgwood.
The world is much improved by well placed petal power, uplifting the lonely and brightening the dour; dousing the dull in heady flower showers, making every minute feel like golden hour.
I’m putting off any more procrastination and booking myself onto a woodland vacation where I can dose up on a free prescription of health-boosting benefits beyond description. I’m ready to breathe in my fill of phytoncides while adrenaline and cortisol quietly subside. I’ll happily let the green enhance my white blood cells and relax in all its beauty while my immunity swells. This is the science of ‘shinrin-yoku’ – I hope you will explore its wonders too.
Searching for clues written in spraint, stealing down to the river ready to wait… Deposits on rocks give it away; the otters are back on our stretch again! This, for me, is a wild weekend night – staying up late to catch a rare sight of a run and dive or brief bobbing head; a rippling splash already past the next bend.
There’s a demon in the conservatory with two tiny green horns. I don’t trust him at all despite his frail, diminutive form. It won’t be too long now till his true colours gleam and hints of his fiery powers will be unmistakably seen. They’ll grow in devilish points all over his strengthening frame – threatening savage burns, matching his diabolical name.
Wisteria hysteria seizes me every time. I can’t help acting as if its trailing blooms are mine; leaning over gates and walls without neighbours’ consent – desperate for a hit of its heavenly, heady scent. Its heavy hanging flowers have me utterly enthralled, there’s a Briar-Rose-enchanted-castle-sense about it all. Oh, to grow a bower of cascades in my bedroom, and sleep among their blue rain falls till late each afternoon. But until I can live out Aurora’s daytime dreams, I’ll have to keep inhaling this fragrance by illicit means.
You bring the blanket, I’ll bring the tea, come and have breakfast in the woods with me. The light will be dappling every forest glade, magicking the morning with sun-kissed shade. And the floor will be covered with a billion bluebells, their heady fragrance balanced by petrichor smells. Let’s catch the final bars of the bird’s dawn opus and give their wild melodies our full, devoted focus. Let’s hold this perfect hour for as long as it can last, and share all our secrets while the day ambles past.
I’m searching the skies for the first few swifts, even as the geese conclude their northward drifts. Strange to think if I lived in Norway or Sweden such different birds would herald my Spring season. Stranger still to think about the whole great exchange and how so many avian species know how to arrange their jaw-dropping migrations around our vast planet – to imagine myself inside the minds of cuckoos or gannets. Migration is a marvel we are only starting to unravel as we investigate the routes each different bird travels. People used to believe swallows hibernated in dirt before it was discovered just how far they traversed. And still no one has charted where house martins go – for now that is a mystery we must keep waiting to know. We think that many birds can read magnetic forces and orientate directions from the sun and stars’ courses. We know some find their way without first being shown, the route somehow understood before being known. Millions race back home, hundreds of kilometres a day, only pausing intermittently for short breaks on the way. The distances they fly are astounding for their size – a bi-annual Olympics played out before distracted eyes. For all that we achieve with our advanced technology, this great exchange holds an even greater awe for me. I will never tire of learning about these brave explorers’ routes and their in-built natural navigator system attributes.