When I returned to the UK a little over a year ago, there had been an unseasonably warm March and as result, Spring had well and truly sprung by the time I stepped off the plane.
This year, the reverse is true with a cold March and April ensuring that nature spent a little longer tucked up in bed than normal, thus delaying the time when I get to experience my first English Springtime for many years.
There have been a few false alarms over the last couple of months as brief interludes of warmer weather have tricked some of the more gullible plants into making an appearance, but they soon came to regret their bravado as another cold snap followed close behind.
But over the last few weeks, it feels as if winter has finally departed.
Temperatures are getting slightly warmer and (shock, horror), I’ve even been heading off to work without my coat.
The pleasant by-product of this rise in temperatures is that Spring has finally decided to put in a belated appearance. And what a spectacular appearance it is too.
It is almost as if nature’s carefully sequenced introduction of renewal has been messed up this year causing everything to happen all at once. And is making up for lost time too.
The early pace-setters – Daffodils and Crocuses in particular – have rapidly been joined by all manner of spring flowers that I don’t have the horticultural knowledge to identify.
The trees are transforming their stark, leafless winter appearances with bright green buds appearing everywhere while blossom and wildflowers are brightening up the hedgerows.
But perhaps the most notable aspect of this is the speed of change.
I find myself walking home most evenings and spotting some bloom that I’m sure wasn’t there the previous day, possibly not even there that same morning.
In my eyes, Springtime in England is a magical time of the year.
And whilst from a temperature point of view, I hope this year’s late Spring transforms itself pretty rapidly into an early Summer, from an aesthetic point of view I hope it takes just a little while longer.