Another weekend, more flooding, another storm. Jorge is busy whipping through the Midlands, as I type this my plants outside are preparing for another few hours of being knocked over in their pots.
At least the new blossom hasn't been blown off the trees, although the magnolia pods are being blown off the branches and lying on the floor, looking like the sort of furry testicles contestants on "I'm a Celebrity" have to eat.
I haven't got the heart to visit our cricket ground, but the River Devon has burst its banks for the millionth time this winter and you can see where the park runners have been diverted to avoid going waist deep in the floods; their footprints have churned up the paths in different parts of the park. I wish I could be doing that again but I'm always shattered on Saturday, and I'm worried about my knees and hip.
I noticed last evening that the Blackbirds have started singing deep into the dusk, one was giving a real blast last night somewhere near my garden.
Still haven't seen any bees, but as soon as we get warmer weather they will be out chaffing away, not to mention some chiffing as well.
When that happens, and the first brimstones fly, we will know that Spring has begun.
All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 29.02.20