The Storm has passed, but the sky is still grey. I set out to walk, scuffing through piles of russet leaves brought down by last night's winds. Trees that only a week ago were dressed in autumn colours, flaunting their beauty, are now stark and bare against the leaden unforgiving sky.

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A once mighty giant of a tree has crashed across the path, felled inexplicably by the wind. Cracked and splintered branches are strewn around. The tree still looks stunned and helpless, stranded somehow.

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Squirrels busy themselves on the forest floor, searching for the spoils of the storm, looking up expectantly as you pass.

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A branch creaks in the stillness, a blackbird scuffles in the dry leaves, a swirl of rooks cry out and return to the bare tree tops.

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The day that began seemingly moments ago is already fading. Winter is upon us 

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The dark woods and bare trees are transforming. Slowly, imperceptibly, a soft green cloak is creeping over the landscape. A beautiful net of leaves and buds is bringing the sleeping trees to life.

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Birds sing, butterflies and bees venture out into fresh magical landscape. Primroses and wild daffodils appear, then white carpets of wild garlic and beautiful drifts of bluebells.

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A song thrush shows off with his accomplished medley of song, daring you to copy, knowing you will fail. His brilliant mastery of notes, ringing through the forest.

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Spring has arrived.