The world was very quiet and still; during the night the north wind had rested and its breath had spread across the grass leaving each fragile stem festooned with diadems. A series of whistles announced the arrival of the first visitors – attired with copes of gold, velvet black waistcoats and carnival masks they alighted and looked for the other guests. The resident pair of oystercatchers looked on with disdain at these exotic migrants while the pipits chattered with nervous excitement. Needing no encouragement to perform the skylarks rose in serenade while the lapwings tumbled and swooped to provide a cabaret of welcome.
During quiet interludes the perfume of jonquils drifts across the garden to entice the bumblebees with the promise of nectar. There is no buzz of bees on these cold afternoons, they sleep on and dream of the arrival of May or even June when the warmth of the sun does not flatter to deceive.
Alas it is just a myth that Spring has arrived when you can put your foot on seven daisies.