It’s almost March.

And although this year started with such haltering steps to the point of almost turning on its heel like a worried child, to run full tilt into the open arms of last year, at last it feels as if it has settled in, is feeling hopeful, and a little less confused.

Why it was decided that January should be ‘the’ beginning of each year, god only knows. It really should have the sense to give us at least a month’s grace to stand up, shake ourselves down and brush off the dust from the previous year’s rollercoaster ride. In truth, for me it was a pretty appalling year.

But as the season offers up more than the occasional glimpse of blue sky above, and the brave army of snowdrops are bolstered by a starry explosion of crocuses, Winter – unhooking her long drab skirts that have snagged and caught on tired arms of Hornbeam and Oak – seems to be gathering pace a little. Perhaps she, like us is tired of ‘this’.

A few weeks ago, I was lucky to receive a particularly beautiful commission. It arrived on the most dismal of days; a real soggy floor cloth of a day… the request was to illustrate a tiny Bullfinch’s egg, in egg tempera.

I couldn’t have begun to predict how much this cheered me…

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Bullfinch

Painting this little egg felt like finding a long ago misplaced key, and then putting this key into the ancient, ivy covered door of Spring. As I got to work, slowly delineating this most precious object, every brush stroke brought with it a sense of promise… the simple pleasures that lay, fresh, green and unfurling, beyond that door.

There’s something about eggs… they touch one with a softness and innocence; a simple joy remembered, perhaps as a child. The magic of finding a tiny, brightly coloured egg shell resting beneath a hedge. Pure wonderment, right there in the palm of one’s hand.

Having finished the Bullfinch egg, and with my key now firmly in the big door, I felt beyond hopeful: all I have to do is paint more eggs, and then surely the key will turn and the door will swing wide onto Spring. So, that’s what I’ve been doing…

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Blackbird

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Mistle Thrush

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Song Thrush

Spring is almost here now. In between each tattered blanket of cloud, the sky lets slip a glimpse of the bluest of blues.. almost the colour of the Dunnock’s tiny egg.

 

A little note: If you click on the bird names, you can hear them sing… with the exception of the Blackbird… this will take you to perhaps one of my most favourite songs.