Ditches were running fast and the lawns presenting as water meadows this morning. Verges held a continuous ribbon of water in the gutters, sometimes flowing or pooling, ready to be thrown by a tyre.
I admired the waters, mentally measuring the spates large enough to accommodate a kayak. Mostly though my attention was on the budding of deciduous woods. The copper beeches have joined the brushed-by-purple club, whose early membership, the silver birches now top the apparent alien charts.
The greening of other varieties is still concealed by the camouflage of the persistent lichen that clothes them in the Forest. Occasional ornamentals already show blossom. Camellias have put out a first desultory flush, keeping back the main show for more reliable warmth; tulip magnolias are half open in sheltered spots. Hedgerow fruits are promised too, if the insects get out in time.
All, of course, waving this morning in the breeze that is denying the frost.
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