There in the mud, the first snowdrop of the season. And, yes, glove in teeth, I make the dog sit so I can photograph it. Look at this. #springiscoming. Only it isn’t true. I have learned that this little dancer with her blue-green skirt is only here to fool me, for sport. Come on, she urges, you can reach out and touch blossomy scents, little lambs and days of sandals. Don’t worry about the wind, see behind me the parade of daffodils, crocuses and tulips, long Pimm’s evenings and shadowy dusks. Her whisper gets tangled in sharp gusts: Trust me.