IS This Spring…..?

BW-TINT-18

After what one could describe as a sunny spring week, our first of the year, this morning was one with a surprise.

The winter has been mild and frosts rare… very much out of character for our climate. So frost this morning was not expected.

Deep in the woods where leaves from last year still linger the frost is adding to the decaying process, all part of the cycle of life…..and as a bonus we were able to crunch through the leaves a rare treat this winter.

Thankfully the sun is now out and ready to play for the rest of the day.

16th April

(C) David Oakes 2016

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14 thoughts on “IS This Spring…..?

  1. Complaining? Last morning the sun was shining, and we were told that the temperatures ouside would be in the range of 7-10 degrees C, but – moving outside it felt more like minus 2-3 deg’s.! To top that, we are told to expect and icy cold spring that will last yet another 4 weeks – at least!
    They certainly won’t win any election this year!!! 😦

      • Actually there has been proposals about removing the British isles from the world map ssince all the bad weather seems to come from you?
        The Vikings didn’t quite succeed it seems? 😀

          • In fact, there has been warnings about flooding tonight! No telling how bad it’s going to be. Don’t much care as I’m living pretty high on a hill, but a lot of people may get their cellars soaked.
            Remember I covered a local flood a couple of years back. It’s published on my blog. May be I’ll find a link for you . . .?

  2. It Was An April Morning: Fresh And Clear – Poem by William Wordsworth

    It was an April morning: fresh and clear
    The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,
    Ran with a young man’s speed; and yet the voice
    Of waters which the winter had supplied
    Was softened down into a vernal tone.
    The spirit of enjoyment and desire,
    And hopes and wishes, from all living things
    Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
    The budding groves seemed eager to urge on
    The steps of June; as if their various hues
    Were only hindrances that stood between
    Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed
    Such an entire contentment in the air
    That every naked ash, and tardy tree
    Yet leafless, showed as if the countenance
    With which it looked on this delightful day
    Were native to the summer.–Up the brook
    I roamed in the confusion of my heart,
    Alive to all things and forgetting all.
    At length I to a sudden turning came
    In this continuous glen, where down a rock
    The Stream, so ardent in its course before,
    Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all
    Which I till then had heard, appeared the voice
    Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the lamb,
    The shepherd’s dog, the linnet and the thrush
    Vied with this waterfall, and made a song,
    Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth
    Or like some natural produce of the air,
    That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here;
    But ’twas the foliage of the rocks–the birch,
    The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn,
    With hanging islands of resplendent furze:
    And, on a summit, distant a short space,
    By any who should look beyond the dell,
    A single mountain-cottage might be seen.
    I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said,
    ‘Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook,
    My EMMA, I will dedicate to thee.’
    —-Soon did the spot become my other home,
    My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode.
    And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there,
    To whom I sometimes in our idle talk
    Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps,
    Years after we are gone and in our graves,
    When they have cause to speak of this wild place,
    May call it by the name of EMMA’S DELL.
    William Wordsworth

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