Apologies for the scary picture. What you are witnessing is my time honoured tradition of getting down on my knees to sniff the first primroses of spring. For it is spring, at last; even more welcome after such a long old winter.
There is a faint green fuzz covering the Cotswolds, as dead-looking wood tentatively sends out the first shoots.
Lambs are gambolling as only lambs do - some of them so new, so fragile, that they get a bit wobbly and have to lie down for a little power nap. Or stop for a snack.
So far the woods are promising many things: fat bluebell spears thrusting through the old autumn leaves, like a thousand tiny armies and honeysuckle gauzily draped round the silver birches. But only the primroses have emerged to smile at us. At times, the air is almost, dare I say it, warm. Now there's something to stick your bottom in the air about!
