As the meteorologists’ Spring approaches, we head out to Villa Wood, part of the Cockaynes Wood Reserve, at first light, feet crunching icy puddles. Sunrise now before 7AM: as soon as it rises high enough to penetrate the trees and illuminate the interior, the stark beauty of a bare woodland unfolds before us.

Paradoxically perhaps, one of the defining features of a good, living woodland is death, dead wood being recycled by the actions of innumerable decay organisms, from wood-boring beetles to fungi and bacteria. And Villa Wood has dead wood in abundance, together with the decayers. Perennial fungi, King Alfred’s Cakes and Turkey-tail for example, are always to be found, but one of its real specialities appears, and dramatically so, only in early Spring – Scarlet Elf-cup.

Each time I spot it, I get that thrill of incongruity, the splash of vivid red against a backdrop of muted brown leaf-mould. And remember the time, now thirty years ago, I first spied it here, then the only known site in north-east Essex. I had been invited in by the gravel company to give my thoughts on what they might do for wildlife…once they had destroyed (quite legally) most of the ancient woodland. Well, at least the pits are now managed for wildlife, Villa Wood still features the delightful meandering course of Sixpenny Brook, and has its complement of Elf-cups, seemingly increasing year on year. What I didn’t notice all those years ago was the bark of trees becoming covered in orange, a terrestrial alga called Trentepohlia: such sights are becoming ever more familiar as the climate changes before our eyes.

Down by the Brook, flower buds on the carpets of Golden-saxifrage have still to burst, but the first Lesser Celandines have made it, while Hazels in the understorey and Elms in the hedges are in profuse flower.

We expect the Golden-saxifrage to be at its best in mid-March, a couple of weeks time….unless the  forecast fury of the ‘Beast from the East’ ushers in Spring with a blanket of snow. For our birds then, it is good to see the Ivy berries now ripe. Flowering late and so fruiting late, Ivy berries are one of the few remaining natural food sources available at this time of year: a plant to celebrate, not destroy, and one which can only grow in importance as our climate tumbles into human-driven chaos.

No pretence at searching for Signs of Spring on today’s walk, just revelling in the fleeting splendour of the here-and-now on Barrier Marsh. A very cold night, the ground frozen hard, but the air starting to warm. Frost turning to drips on the Tamarisk, and mist trapped in an inversion layer, its base almost solid just above our heads.

The marsh itself looking in super condition. Surface water splashes, iced over today, will hopefully remain for a month or two yet. When the Garganey start to move through from Africa, this is where they might well pitch down for a few days. Or even longer, mingling with the breeding Redshank and Lapwing…we can but dream. But the improved management on the marsh, retaining water where and when it is needed, rather than its lifeblood draining out with the tide, give hope that such dreams one day could become reality…

They say the camera never lies. But it doesn’t always tell the whole truth….
Today’s pictures might seem to be firmly rooted in the Colne winter, with big, cold skies, waders and ducks, and frost. Real frost on buttercup leaves, and lichens frosting the branches of Blackthorn, as yet not festooned with flowers.

But aside from the purely visual, Spring was in the air this morning. Curlews now bubbling more than whelping; pairing Shelducks, their pas-de-deux accompanied by gentle, companionable quacking; Skylarks and Reed Buntings in full song. Polar opposites on the vocal spectrum, both are gold medallists, Skylarks for freestyle flamboyance, Reed Buntings for metronomic precision.

First light on Barrier Marsh: ideal conditions to see its structure and interpret its history. Thrown into relief by the low sunrays, and contrast enhanced by light frosting, thousands of ant-hills in the central section spoke of long, undisturbed development, whereas either end has clearly been levelled, and in part ploughed in the past. The ants are reclaiming the flatlands, but to build a big anthill takes many decades.

Still in the grip of frosty mornings, into Wivenhoe Wood we ventured. From frozen earth and crystal-clad grass to slithery mud – good Essex mud – despite the lack of foliage, the mere presence of trees sufficient to create an insulating blanket over the ground. And good for the Moles, needing to feed on earthworms through the winter and therefore seeking out ground less prone to freezing.

Two of the earliest promises of spring, buds of Honeysuckle and Bluebells spearing the leaf-mould, have been evident since before the Solstice, but now their pregnant swelling is bursting forth. And Holly Leaf-miners are resuming their internal munching, protected from the cold still further within the tough coat of Holly leaf. Thus insulated from the vagaries of the climate, the grubs will be an abundant, reliable, and well-signposted food for Blue Tit chicks in a couple of months’ time.

A Great Spotted Woodpecker drummed loudly in the still air, and a noisy party of five Siskins demolished their way through the seed-filled cones of an Alder. But most striking of all, almost luminescent in vivid orange against a backdrop of earthen browns, patches of Golden Jelly-fungus growing out of dead twigs, like a beacon….

After the very spring-like weekend, it was almost inevitable that winter would show its teeth again. Snow yesterday, but today deep, penetrating frost, producing a magical landscape for those of us out and about just after sunrise.

Whether a shimmering cloak on the ground or the filigree fingers of frost entwining and embracing the dormant vegetation, such mornings are a delight  and inspiration for any photographer.

And never despair, the signs of spring are still there. Birdsong, triggered more by day length than temperature, is swelling by the day. Around Ferry Marsh, Great Tits and Dunnocks really going for it, to a backdrop of distant Skylark, and our newest resident a Cetti’s Warbler exclaiming his almost angry song, unseen, deep in the scrubby reeds. But a second bird, silent save for a guttural croak, moving through the hedge-line, and showing itself surprisingly well: could that have been a female, searching for a nest site?

The signs are there! Buds swelling, the first flowers bursting, and insects emerging…while we may still be plunged into the depths of cold, all it takes is a little bit of sun to stir Spring into life.

Along Cutthroat Lane today, the Butcher’s Broom flowers – small, unassuming, but beautiful – are bursting from their buds in the centres of the sharply pointed ‘leaves’; while the berries from the class of 2017 shine bright even in the deepest shade.

Although not everything red and shiny is part of the plant: Seven Spot Ladybirds are emerging from their winter torpor to take up their task of making inroads into aphid populations.

The first Red Dead-nettles are flowering, a favourite source of food for the first bumblebees..

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…while on Barrier Marsh, damp hollows are filling up with the newly-germinated rosettes of the annual Hairy Buttercup.

An escape from cultivation, Greater Periwinkle is starting to flower in hedgebanks now. Often mistaken for its smaller relative the Lesser Periwinkle, to separate them look for the fringe of hairs round the edge of Greater’s leaves…

Meanwhile, Gorse is blooming as it always is (‘When Gorse is in flower, kissing’s in season’), although the sun’s heat isn’t yet sufficient to release the coconut fragrance. But they do look lovely, especially mingled with the hairy, almost singed-looking buds.

And Hazel, tantalising with its promise of Spring since before Christmas, is still going strong, the dangling male catkins releasing pollen, while the tiny red female flowers await their fate on the wind.