Here’s a photograph taken from my bedroom window this morning. A few weeks ago, someone (I thought Sig, but I can’t find it) mentioned how difficult it was to imagine a green, living landscape emerging from the muddy browns and greys that the melting snow was revealing. I couldn’t agree more, but here it is once again. In a couple of weeks time that row of twelve skeletal ash that follows a small stream down the hill will come into leaf. Then it will divide this view, screening off the emerald-green profile of the hillside, but I won’t care because the trees themselves are so pretty. Ash trees are the last to get leaves and the first to lose them, growing like mad in the meantime.