A dank stillness swaddles the imminent stirring of spring

Claxton, Norfolk Most of spring is here but hidden somewhere in all this quiescence

It is not dense enough to call mist, let alone fog, but February's invisible damp gives milkiness to the air and weight to the morning's mood. The ivy leaves in our hedge seem to droop as if they have all been licked downwards, and our garden robin hugs their shadow with its brown back to me. As I walk to the river I notice that the oak leaves by the track, which were frosted copper last month, are in mid journey from leaf mulch to soil.

Across the marsh there is no division between the grey of the sky and land, and no horizon, and the dark of the woods is burred with softness. The north-westerly is mild and lifts only the lightest vegetation - the reed tops by the sides of the path - and the moisture adds to each intake of breath the cold savour of bare earth and dead leaves.