First daffodil in the garden, a tiny narcissus. There are crocus, too, till in the bud, soon to follow. No snowdrops yet; they take a while to get started, and I am starting from concrete, clay and mud back here. Next year, maybe. All along the tow-path, spring is touching life from the trees, buds swelling, almost bursting. Spring is coming. This year, the thing that has struck me the most is not those usual pretty harbingers of spring like catkins and snowdrops, but the masses of fragile young seedlings scrambling out from under snow and hail with astonishing deterination and haste. They're growing everywhere; in piles of old leaves, along the edges of streets, in the cracks in pavements, shooting up so fast, that it seems that you might be able to see the growth if you watched it for an hour in weak spring sunshine. No way of telling what they are yet, though you can guess from near neighbours. Hollyhocks by front gardens, dockleaves on waste ground. In my back garden? Wait and see. In the meantime, ladybirds are coming out to sun themselves when they can find some sun. Aphids, doubtless, will be along any minute. The slugs are certainly here already; look at that daffodil's second bud.