The exuberance of the birds in springtime is contagious. I
cannot remember a March when the dawn chorus has
heralded such sublime days.
The woods are only a few steps from The Doll House. Here,
it is possible to walk for miles, skirting the banks of the
man-made dams and the small lakes that are strung together
like a string of pearls. Now, in spring, shafts of sunlight
illuminate the brown carpeted forest floor and beyond lies
the glittering ice blue water.
In the garden, even while the last snow-pile melted away like
the foam on a cappuccino, the snow drops gathered with
demurely bowed crowns. Then, the crocuses brashly
popped-up in both expected and unexpected places.
Now, in April, Arctic air has chilled the euphoric feeling of
spring and even the birdsong has lost its rapture
but the hardy snowdrops and crocuses are
blooming valiantly in the