My excitement levels are rising just as the sap is beginning to rise. When I walk down the garden Clematis Cirrhosa 'Wisley Cream' is already out, with poor delicate flowers battered by the rain. Clematis Armandii is full of buds, and, as yet has not been checked by low temperatures. The shoots of the daffodil bulbs are clearly visible in the longer grass of the orchard, and a few brave snowdrops are in full flower.
The tulips are pushing through now, and I saw Aconites in a garden I drove past the other day.
The sap is beginning to rise and on a fine day I swear I smell Spring on the wind.
So why do I feel a little gnawing of discontent ? A little feeling inside that all is not as it should be ? It is because I have just realised that, as gardeners, we wish our lives away.
I want the daffodils to be out, and the leaves on the trees to be unfurling, damn it, I want to see the first rose, and smell the tomato plant smell in the greenhouse. I want the garden hose to be warm and pliable in my hand, and to enjoy the cool water when it splashes me. I'm impatient with leaden skies, bare soil and closed windows.
I wish I was as passionate about knitting , or golf, or home baking, because then I could do it all year round, without a break. As it is, I am a happy content soul until about November, when the last flower has flowered and the soil gets wet and cold. From then until Spring I am mentally crossing off the days until Spring, when the whole roller coaster starts again.
There is even a little app which someone has invented for us gardeners, which ticks off the days, hours and minutes until the official start of Spring. I haven't downloaded it because I don't want to watch the clock.
Blogging has really brought this home to me, because we are all the same, all wishing away the cold winter days, longing for the Spring to come, so we can get out there and do what we do best ... garden! All of us, wishing away those days when we could be enjoying relaxing by a log fire, reading, knitting, baking ... What a waste of each precious day.
It's not that I don't enjoy making my own homemade bread, or reading a novel, or knitting a wonky scarf, it's just that I don't have the same passion for it.
So, I'll admit it, I'm just waiting, with growing impatience, for it all to kick off ...