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A Vague Promise

Snowdrops In The Lane

Snowdrops In The Lane

When we set off on our daily dalliance, the first fifty foot-falls take us up an short incline, then, along the lane to the gate. As we stand at the base of the incline our eye level is at the height of the banks a little further on. In the drab days of winter, there is little to see there.
The oak trees of the wood on the right, stand leafless and silent. Dreaming of warm spring days filled with pollen and gentle breezes. They have no inclination toward communication, and I doubt if they are even aware of the fierce gales and bitter chill that are the current central topic of conversation.
The hedge on the left usually has a trim this time of year, it is transformed from an artistic, but irregular, interwoven mish-mash of whip-thin tendrils, into a tidy, compact brown-ness, matching the bare earth of the bank.
But, spring is in the air. If we need proof, this initial incline offers us proof positive. For here, today, we have a cheering patch of snowdrops. Soon they will be joined by the irrepressible yellow of daffodils, then lesser celandine and bluebells join the dance.
And so, in its own time, spring will fulfil the promise the snowdrops whisper, so faint as to be barely intelligible, as we pass each day.

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