Daffers

Linford Bottom is sodden, the clay paths badly churned, sloppy, making walking difficult; it's better to walk off the paths, the ground is firmer, easier going.  Through the loose woodland that fringes Linford Brook flashes of yellow and white amongst the tired browns and greys of winter; Daffodils, not the shop bought ones, rather our native, smaller, variety.  The brook darts through, moving with purpose, flushed with water from the recent rains.  Every now and again enclaves of spring have established themselves, a beach head for the burgeoning life waiting to burst forth.  A buzz saw roars from nearby Pinnick Wood as a broad swathe is cut, clearing the banks of a tributary of Linford Brook and creating an avenue of open space up towards Akercombe Bottom; it's not clear cutting mind, there are the occasional tree or small group of trees left.