The spring equinox- it feels like spring.

The spring equinox - it feels like spring.

So how was winter for you? Did you pull on several layers of clothing, switch on the central heating in November, close the curtains or blinds and just hibernate? It may seem that winter has been with us for far too long, a bitterly cold period of time where the volatile moods of the British climate have taken us across a wide spectrum of emotions. But we can see, quite definitely, a light at the end of what seems the darkest tunnel.

For the last week or so of course some of us must have been convinced that the whole of Britain was about to be swallowed up by snow, brought to a juddering halt by freezing temperatures and maybe, on several occasions, completely immobilised by forces that seemed to be beyond our control. But the end is now in sight and today it felt like spring again but without the songs about Amsterdam.

Of course it's been difficult and dreadfully disruptive but we hunkered down, battened down the hatches and kept snug and cosy in front of the flickering images of our dear old TV. Spring is on the threshold of breaking out into the big, wide world. It'll almost seem as if winter was some ancient piece of parchment, a season that only visits our shores during those seemingly eternal months of November, December, January and February.

Now though the Ides of March seem to be blowing through the land with a quiet, gentle and unobtrusive wind. Still, our faithful trees look terribly sorry for themselves, an air of pained neglect and rejection in every single branch, a sense that nobody much cares for them and a feeling of loneliness that can hardly be imagined.

Still the whole of nature is beginning to feel much better about itself. There is a much more positive and proactive look about Manor House. The thick snows which, quite literally, covered our driveway have now melted into oblivion, vast swathes of pavements now clear of slush, slippery ice and the threat of more to come now no more than an unfounded rumour. March is here, assertive, decisive, ready to make its presence felt, greyness, whiteness and gloominess an unsettling memory perhaps.

Now is the time to look around us, gaze across the British landscape and revel in the blossoming growth of a brand new season. Soon our gardens, parks and playing fields will be alive with yet another display of nature's most colourful flowerings. Indeed we are on the verge of the spring equinox, the season of re-birth, of surging optimism and picture postcard renaissance. How we've missed you spring. You've been cowering away for too long, all locked up and repressed, shivering uncomfortably in the draughty corners of a winter hideaway.

For the time being though there is a spine tingling chill in the air, sharp winds still piercing through the soul like a cutting knife. It is not quite time to celebrate the arrival of the bluebells, the crocuses, the wonderfully heartwarming daffodils and those cute snowdrops that decorate most of our sprawling parks. It almost feels as though spring is preparing itself with several dress rehearsals, a major run through with the script and then bracing itself for opening night when the curtain goes up and the lights go on for yet another royal command performance.

We all know about spring's spectacular outpouring, its festival of colour, its dancing, singing, prancing, cavorting and carousing showtime parade. Suddenly the desperate desolation and aching sadness of winter will be replaced by those brilliantly brazen reds, yellows, greens and blues, their subtle shades of orange, purple and green.

 Then overnight the carnival will be complete with those happy go lucky chrysanthemums, those deliriously overjoyed tulips, swaying and jiving to that rhythmic beat that only spring can give us. Until that is, summer takes over and then we get an entirely different set of lyrics. Spring does though feel very much like the beginning of some wonderful orchestral piece, a lovely and delicious sonata, a grand overture that becomes simply and beautifully intoxicating.

Soon we will be welcoming some of the sweetest scents that spring can possibly offer, dainty daisies that eventually become chains, bright shafts of sunlight flooding through our kitchen windows without fail every March. What follows are a series of beefy, meaty rain showers that may have lulled us into a false sense of security. But we know, with some degree of certainty, that this is just a temporary occurrence, something that is transient and will just pass through as if nothing had ever happened.

At some point the garden lawnmowers will make their yearly comeback, bursting out of our sheds as if released from captivity. Across the whole of Britain a buzzing, humming sound  blasts out a vociferous tune over a thousand fences and walls. Lawnmowers are now an established part of the British springtime ritual, rather like treading through forests of crunching leaves or conkers during autumn.

Finally the pruning shears will be donned yet again and a whole host of rosebeds will be lovingly tended to before the secateurs rip down thick bushes. Then we'll look at the primroses that are beginning to peek through the gathering gloom of winter's final hurrah. Without any prompting the birds of Spring make their melodious entrance.

In no time the cuckoos sit high and innocently on the most fragile of branches, announcing themselves mellifluously with that lovely, uplifting lilting note that begins to sound like the conventional nursery rhyme. The early morning call of the cuckoo is unmistakable and sounds like the most perfectly tuned flute. We tend to take it for granted that the cuckoos will always come out to play on the first day of Spring because they always have and they're almost integral to the way of life we've always lead at the this time of the year.

So there we are folks. Spring is about to spring eternal and a thousand poets have already composed their charming verses. Before you know it'll be Easter and Pesach and we'll all be skipping around maypoles, sitting outside country pub gardens in the fading pink glow of an early evening sky and then fondly imagining that rabbits and chocolate eggs are synonymous with spring and that sooner or later the days will become lighter and brighter. Surely we can feel it in our bones.