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| Frost, the great synchroniser | Frost, the great synchroniser |
| (6 months later) | |
| It was a dawn that almost made me wish that winter might last a little longer. The sun was rising over frosted grass into a cloudless sky. A crystalline morning beckoned, payback for those mildest-on-record months with their grey skies and rain that lasted from daybreak until dusk. | It was a dawn that almost made me wish that winter might last a little longer. The sun was rising over frosted grass into a cloudless sky. A crystalline morning beckoned, payback for those mildest-on-record months with their grey skies and rain that lasted from daybreak until dusk. |
| I shielded my eyes against shafts of sunlight that speared through the hawthorns and highlighted the fresh green growth of goosegrass. A hedge sparrow, singing from its perch on top of the hedge, was surrounded in a halo of light. | I shielded my eyes against shafts of sunlight that speared through the hawthorns and highlighted the fresh green growth of goosegrass. A hedge sparrow, singing from its perch on top of the hedge, was surrounded in a halo of light. |
| Underfoot, the slithery mud that had covered the path yesterday had turned to iron overnight. Winged seeds of Norway maple that had spun to earth last autumn were welded to the ground, the outlines of their aerofoils etched in rime. Prising one from the ground, I picked at it with a fingernail, peeling back the thin seed coat. Inside lay a bright green embryonic tree, its minute root and shoot curled around a food store that would sustain it during the first days of growth. It might only be days away from germination but for now the seed remained locked in dormancy. | Underfoot, the slithery mud that had covered the path yesterday had turned to iron overnight. Winged seeds of Norway maple that had spun to earth last autumn were welded to the ground, the outlines of their aerofoils etched in rime. Prising one from the ground, I picked at it with a fingernail, peeling back the thin seed coat. Inside lay a bright green embryonic tree, its minute root and shoot curled around a food store that would sustain it during the first days of growth. It might only be days away from germination but for now the seed remained locked in dormancy. |
| Frost is the great synchroniser, the agency that breaks dormancy by slowly destroying abscisic acid, the hormonal lock that is stored in seeds and buds in autumn and prevents reckless germination on treacherously mild days in mid-winter. Each successive frozen dawn shortens this fuse that releases the explosion of new growth when spring arrives. It is one of nature’s paradoxes that, if winters are too mild and there are too few frosts, the fuse burns more slowly so some buds, like those of beech trees, burst later. | Frost is the great synchroniser, the agency that breaks dormancy by slowly destroying abscisic acid, the hormonal lock that is stored in seeds and buds in autumn and prevents reckless germination on treacherously mild days in mid-winter. Each successive frozen dawn shortens this fuse that releases the explosion of new growth when spring arrives. It is one of nature’s paradoxes that, if winters are too mild and there are too few frosts, the fuse burns more slowly so some buds, like those of beech trees, burst later. |
| This morning some species showed no such timidity. As the sun rose the frost turned to sparkling water drops on new hawthorn leaves and hazel catkins. Underneath the hedge, among last autumn’s withered grasses, there were whorls of new primrose leaves surrounding clusters of flower buds. | This morning some species showed no such timidity. As the sun rose the frost turned to sparkling water drops on new hawthorn leaves and hazel catkins. Underneath the hedge, among last autumn’s withered grasses, there were whorls of new primrose leaves surrounding clusters of flower buds. |
| These last winter mornings, loaded with anticipation, inching towards spring, bring a sequence of revelations that we can expect to wake up to less than 100 times in a lifetime. They are days to be savoured. | These last winter mornings, loaded with anticipation, inching towards spring, bring a sequence of revelations that we can expect to wake up to less than 100 times in a lifetime. They are days to be savoured. |
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