This period between real winter and spring is often seen as lacking features. Not true. A quiet subsong of a thrush was briefly heard yesterday. The waters were rushing and bubbling through the streams. Mud rules everywhere.
Catkins are dripping. And soon the best season for lichen will be here. But the feature that seems to characterise this meta-season best is the past and future coming together on the same humble low tree. The young beech and oak that have refused to shed leaves despite all that snow and wind could do to persuade them, are now showing buds. Reminds me of the old moon in Sir Patrick Spens.
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