Every year, our garden starts white. Clumps of snowdrops scattered across the lawn. Frost, and occasionally a smattering of snow.

Then, on this whitest of canvasses we gradually see a little colour.

By the summer, it will be a riot, with roses exuberantly filling the place with golds and peaches and reds.

But these crocuses are the first dot on the artist’s palette. The first hint that something more will replace the delicate start to the year.