Within hours of the first buds opening in my garden, I saw a honey bee inspecting crocuses
“Spring,” they say, “starts low, then climbs.”
It’s true: the progress of life’s early reawakening is all skywards, from the first, secretive stirrings of snowdrops and celandine down among the ground cover, through brassy bursts of daffodils in the lengthening grass, up to the foaming wave of blossom that sweeps through the tops of cherry-plum and blackthorn.
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