Scarlet is not a springtime forest colour, so the two gleaming berries by the track brought us to a standstill. Set within the foliage of a small dark green shrub, they caught the sunlight and asked to be noticed. Their parent needs to be approached with caution. Anyone pulling the branches aside to get a better look soon regrets it. They immediately encounter spines so fine they can hardly be seen, but, oh, can they be felt. This is butcher's broom, a sure sign we are in a stretch of ancient woodland. A tease from beginning to end, who'd guess that this plant, once so aptly named "knee holly" in some country areas, is a member of the lily family? Even its "leaves" are not leaves at all. The true leaves are just papery scales on the stem. What appear to be leaves are really flattened side shoots that broaden out to look like them, and it's from the middle of these that a single greenish flower forms, not much bigger than a match head.
We are on our way to see a fine display of daffodils drifted through an area of woodland. The filtering sun highlights both the blooms and the undulations as the ground drops away, creating an enchanting overview. As we watch, a roe deer breaks cover and bounds into the far distance, the broad white patch on its rump telling us what it is. Perhaps its abrupt arrival at the top of the slope was unsettling. Almost at once, a fox appears and works its way along the edge of the trees. It pauses, nose pointed towards us as though catching our scent from several hundred metres, before vanishing into a field we only glimpse between the trunks.
On the way back we wander through a holly grove and meet again with scarlet. Scattered berries still lying around well into spring are proof enough that our saturating winter was not very cold.
