The lambs’ tails wagged in the wind. Not the woolly variety, but the catkins on the hazel tree. The rest of the wood edge was drab and colourless, but the hazel was a riot of dangling, shimmering, yellow tassels. Is there a more striking sight that spring is at last on its way? The catkins are the tree’s male flowers; the female flowers are far less conspicuous, yet just as vivid.

Growing on the same tree, you have to really search for them.