The first day of Spring. Meteorologically speaking. The 1st of March. An arbitrary date that the Met Office has declared for their statistics. More snow overnight with strong winds. Yet in a sheltered hollow of Newton Wood, a snow-encrusted oak sapling with a stubborn leaf still clinging on.
An appropriate poem for this day by Bill Bilston:
February knew
its days
were numbered
for those
of a new month
had gathered
at its borders
and it soon
received
its Marching orders
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