Our ground, so hardfaced and unyielding in summer, now saturated, heaving and groaning. Water sits in swales, or oozes from ponds and trickles down ancient holloways under gun metal skies. Even now though, in the dull eye of this very modern winter, nature offers the promise of spring. Honeybees are flying quick circuits of the field, pausing at winter flowering willow, spidery witch hazel and yellow cob catkin. Windblown and mud spattered Hellebores another flash of colour as the sun's flat light breaks through cloud. Things are moving on again.