Describing Spring   Leave a comment

      This is an extract from my new book ‘Writing with Stardust’, now on Amazon. It is in 5 Levels and the entire book comes in 5 levels for each chapter. It is the ultimate descriptive guide for students and teachers. There is also a spelling workbook available on Amazon. I hope you enjoy the post.        



  1. The fields were parsley-green. COLOUR
  2. Lonely calves were lowing in the fields. SOUND
  3. The moon was like a ghostly-silver disc in the sky. SIMILES FOR THE MOON
  4. A carnival of scents blew in the air. THE MOVEMENT OF SCENTS
  5. A host of daisies scattered the meadow. SPRING FLOWERS
  6. Strands of thin light came from the sky. METAPHORS FOR LIGHT
  7. The milk-splashed calves brayed for company. OTHER IMAGES
  8. The scene was spirit-lifting. SENSATION
  9. There was a cream fresh smell. SMELL
  10. The spring foods had a candy floss sweet taste. TASTE



The fields were glade-green. The sound of chirping chicks filled the air. The moon was like a phantom-silver orb. A pageant of smells floated in the spring air and a horde of dandelions littered the meadow. Staffs of slim light spilled from the sky. Proud-breasted pigeons strutted across the meadow. The scene was spirit-refreshing and pastoral. The meadow smelled pear fresh. There was a blossom sweet taste to the food we ate.



The malachite-green fields seemed to be covered in a bright sheen under the dawn moon. We could hear yipping fox cubs breaking the quiet of the world. Clouds shaped like tufty pillows glided slowly across the sky. They carried an airy, warm, drizzling rain with them. It cleansed the land and banished the strangling coldness and stunned silence of winter. Plinking and pattering off the leaves, then fading into memory, the rain energized the flora. It left behind a world baptized and rebirthed by its liquid grace. Song thrushes trilled as the spectre-silver moon began to wane and the fog of flowers in the meadow slowly revealed itself. We could smell their aromas hovering in the air.

Versace-purple crocuses seemed to glow before our eyes. Jewel-green grasshoppers bounced atop the grass like leggy trampolines. In the stony verges, Rafael-red valerian sprouted from between coral-black cracks. Spears of dawn light suddenly drenched the farthest corners with their golden magic. A pair of misty-eyed cubs yelped as they saw us and darted to safety. A murmuration of starlings wheeled and banked overhead like wind-tossed gunpowder. The rustic scene was spirit-renewing and we let the menu of melon fresh scents wash over us. We ate our hamper of food under the leafy umbrella of a great oak and it tasted molasses sweet.



The dawn chorus is the herald of spring. It starts with a lonely, serenading minstrel, usually a blackbird. He is clear and melodious, as fresh and sweet as the gardens he will later raid. In the neighbouring tree, his future ex-wife trumpets a fluty duet. Her saucy fanfare dares others to match their salsa song of the canopy. The competition rouses from their slumber, opening their beaks to the heavens. The avian aria slowly becomes a fugue, bouncing through bough and bower. The lilting majesty of their song cascades into open spaces, through glassy windows, and onto the smiling lips of the dreamers within. Spring is here.

What are the triggers for the comforting cannon of tree music? Is it the lace of morning fog slowly receding as the months roll by? Is it the gently unfurling flowers, velour soft and receptive to warmth? Is it the baked oven smell of grass as the sun purges it of water? It is this and more. It is the world moving from iron-grey to fairyland –green. It is the spools of lambs’ wool hanging from straggly bushes, a wedding card to the nesters. It is the mist of smells, the frill of flowers and the scent of magic in the air. Shoals of honeysuckle, primroses and bluebells sway and weave a rich mosaic in the meadows. Harp strings of golden light touch steaming shadows and soften the frozen earth for the wildflowers. Turtle-slow lawnmowers pedicure the grass, while leaving their clippings behind for the fussy nesters. Gnarled hands with snipping shears scalp the hedges. The world is young, lush and bountiful again. It is a spirit-enriching, pastoral scene. Under the wraith-silver moon, an alchemy of balsamic scents swirl around the meadow. Human foods become peach sweet to the taste after the scavenging fangs of winter turned them tasteless.

What of the dreamers? The same, easy smile plays on their lips. They are listening to the theatre of the trees while they sleep. To them, it is a song woven from lilting lullaby and brazen beak. They do not know that it is an ode older than the span of man’s dreams. They may never see the beauty of the brood-mance of the bower. Neither the finest pane of daylight nor the most cunning tint of moonlight shall match the opus of the dawn chorus. Spring is here.




Spring is glee. It’s a fizzy tonic, like a slowly overflowing bottle of bubbling joy. It tattoos its colours onto the land, banishing the clay-cold claws of winter. The blessed dew is bespangled on the frosty ground. Like wizard dust, it burns the snow into oblivion. Buds blossom, trees thaw and grass grows. Spring cauterizes, with a surgical precision, the gaping wounds winter leaves on the land. When it’s finished, it infuses its own mojo into the endless opera of the seasons.

One fine morning, the world wakes up to a rapture-blue sky. It is high and bright, a continuum of delight that salves both spirit and soul. The grass becomes wonderland-green as if some magical jujitsu chop has banished the frost overnight. Squillions of glint-silver dewdrops are sprinkled in the meadow like stardust. They are shimmering Eden pills that signal to the grass it’s time to revive. Like slinky escapologists, the seeds below slip through the iron shackles of the earth. Finally, flowers begin to wave at the ecstasy-blue sky again. Within days, cherry blossoms are manicured with bliss-pink petals.

Splay-legged lambs, acolyte-white in colour, wobble on their knobbly joints before going a-gambol in the fields. Waves of coruscating light immerse the meadows in sheets of golden flame. Bluebells and daffodils add to the stained-glass perfection of the forest’s colours. Tufty thickets burst forth as everything is a-tangle in the branches for birdy kiss-and-tells. Little feathers mysteriously appear under conker-brown trees.

Spring is here. It is the time of the ‘lings; nestlings, seedlings and ding-a-lings. In finely woven nests, tiny hearts tap with joy. Under the ground, shoots shaped like tadpoles replace crusty bulbs. The first bike-racers appear, zinging down country lanes, terrorizing baby hedgehogs. Overhead, an exodus of banished birds appears as if out of a Celtic fairytale. Honking geese and whooping swans are joined by the sinister cuckoo. To-whom-do-you-brood-with is his sorrowful call and the answer will doom some of the nestlings.

In the distance, the world’s greatest sound is coming out of hibernation. It is the mellifluous hum of a distant lawnmower, signalling that the land is warm again. Its distant drone is a sort of surrogate wind music, flowing into winter-battered ears. Whittling and shearing the grass to perfection, it provides symmetry to winter’s jumble sale of chaos. The air smells like baked sugar cakes after the grass is shorn. Snowmelt makes the rivers pulse like wondrous veins. They surge to collect winter’s clutter, rumbling through rocky channels.

Thumb-plump bumblebees, wings a-thrum, loot from honeypots of mustard-yellow flowers. They sound like mini tumble dryers, plunging syringe-like to extract their booty. Nickering foals prance and cavort in carnival-green fields. The pumping heart of nature is beating again.

Spring is nature’s defibrillator, a high voltage pacemaker that jump starts life into the land. It throbs and thumps to its own high octane rhythm and composes its own symphony of sound. It has a life, a fragrance and a lilting synergy unique to itself. If it were a perfume, it would be called eau-de-Glee.



For the full chapter, check out Writing with Stardust which is now available on Amazon. You can also click any of the book images underneath.












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