I suspect that I am not the only person to have been taken by surprise by the arrival of spring this year, much as we all might have longed for it after a dull April. I feel as though Spring always comes this way though. One day you’re shivering and scraping your windscreen under sleet and the next, the whole world has bloomed unexpectedly and the air is full of lilac perfume. Last weekend, spring seemed to have finally turned up in my corner of the world and I took advantage of a beautiful evening go out and enjoy it. I love this transitional season – full spring, with the promise of long summer days in the air, but when the warmth of the sun is still a novelty and there is still a fresh breeze blowing. The cherry trees are shedding candyfloss blossom and, although plenty of waxy magnolia petals carpet the grass, just as many continue to cling to the branches, joined by thick green leaves.

As I make my way across part of the stray, Harrogate’s 200 acres of protected open land, I note that most of the grass has been cut, leaving fragrant heaps of cuttings along the turf. However, around the trunks of trees and at intervals along the path, oval patches of grass have been left to grow, long strands tangling with brilliant yellow buttercups, frilly cow parsley and the fluffy ghosts of dandelions. I love this as a rewilding initiative, tiny handkerchiefs of grass, left alone to encourage flowers and grasses to flourish and to support natural ecosystems. Quite a lot of Harrogate’s civic planting is structured and so I like the idea of using some of this beautiful open space to allow nature to take over. I’ve noticed that my neighbours have also cultivated spring wildflowers in many of their carefully tended front yards this year. Delicate bluebells have appeared alongside tulips, mimosa and daisies. Overhead, laburnums are heavy with brilliant yellow blossoms and blousy lilacs, with their romantic scent are flowering, inviting you to stop and take a deep inhale each time you pass by (checking for bees first, of course!).

The flowers are gorgeous, but I’m really here for the trees. Over the last year, I feel as though I’ve become acquainted with these old trees, which line the open spaces of the town. I like to wander amongst them, looking up at the dizzying whorls and knots on the trunks and admiring the miniature landscapes which are to be found in the bark, made up of intricate wood, spiders webs and moss. One of my goals for this year is to learn more about these local trees, to be able to identify them confidently and to get to know them better (in budding witch fashion, I already have a few favourites, which I always greet!)

I can easily recognise the lime trees with their grassy green leaves, the planes with their prickly bundles of seeds hanging like decorations from the branches and the English Oak with its incipient catkins just sprouting. I think the clusters of conical, upright white flowers which I’ve been admiring for their similarities to lanterns or crowns, must adorn the horse chestnut tree. I can spot the tiny, cottony petals of the hawthorn and know their deep summery scent now, but as to whether the others are ash, beech or pine, I’m still unsure. I get the feeling I’ll be taking my tree identification book on a lot of walks this summer! For now though, I trudge beneath them, staring up and enjoying the effects of light and shadow on the branches as the trees soak up the sun.

The trees are not alone in enjoying the light. The boggy parts of the field are drying up in the heat as long stripes of light fall over the grass. Like everywhere else, we’ve also had a lot of rain this year and some of the lower lying or shaded parts of the fields are still muddy. Bees flit between trees, a caramel-coloured spaniel runs in wide circles for sheer giddy joy and a magpie couple make a stately progression across the grass, checking assiduously for grubs. A few pigeons loiter at the edge of the sunlit grass, eyes half closed, purple feathers gleaming. Pigeons are very good at resting, I feel. I take a rest too, sinking onto a bench in the sun and feeling the warmth on my face. Spring often feels as though everything is hurtling along, bursting into life at a tremendous pace. But there’s also something restful and calm about the first touch of spring sunlight on your cheeks. I’m reminded that I, like the trees, am also coming back to life in this season after winter. I’m already planning many more walks this month, stashing a book and a snack in my pocket and coming up here to watch the season play out so beautifully.