It seems that every February a fools-spring deceives us into thinking winter is over.

But, as sure as night follows day, March brings us an Arctic blast, even snow on occasions.

However, despite the season’s vagary, it is such a special time, for who cannot find joy in its arrival however hesitant its faltering start.

I felt my first twinge of spring last week, and it was delivered by an unlikely courier.

It wasn’t brought on by the drooping white heads of snowdrops, or the yolk yellow winter aconites that bloom alongside.

It wasn’t even an early daffodil or the repetitive bicycle pump squeak of the great tit.

For my new, and now favourite, herald of spring is the common toad.

I discovered a rather grumpy looking individual emerging from leaf litter at the bottom of the garden.

Presumably having just woken from hibernation and en route to my garden pond.

Its progression across the lawn can only be described as lumpy.

After what appeared an exhausting three or four yard journey, it flopped back on its haunches and with a defiant Churchillian look upon its face, held its chin proudly in the air.

It was clearly relieved to have survived the winter and was no doubt delighted that spring had returned.

Prompted by my toad encounter I was reminded of an........

© Norwich Evening News