Springing

Here's one of my favourite Victorian poems: it's by Robert Browning:

The year's at the spring

And day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven;

The hillside's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn:

God's in His heaven—

All's right with the world!

It's not a poem ever to recite at any kind of reciting-poetry occasion because you will say "The snail's on the wing - - " and then start giggling uncontrollably. Trust me, I know. However, it does sum up my feelings about Spring - that sudden feeling of winter's-over joy.

Not that we've really had much of a winter here: I think we did have a light dusting of snow one day accompanied by much panic, and a day of really very scary winds.

But now we have catkins - always very cheery, I think: - these were in Ingleton last weekend:

And the daffodils are coming out. This one was in Golden Acre Park, near Leeds, yesterday. I didn't pick it, of course, just wanted it to show its best side for the camera:

And here, also at Golden Acre Park, are some winter trees enjoying the spring sunshine.

And, as I mentioned on Thursday, there is frogspawn in the pond which to me is the key indicator that Spring is on its way. When I was a child, there was very occasionally frogspawn in late February (I kept an annual frogspawn diary. I was that sort of child) so that hasn't changed too much.

But daffodils? I always associate them with Easter and even a very early Easter happens well into March. Global warming again, I think.