If Spring didn't exist we would have to invent it. How else would we describe the period 'twixt the grey cold Stygian months and the sun warmed season of the cuckoo and the grasshopper. The skeletal framework of the trees still await their softening covering of leaves. The brightness of the daffodils and anemones preface the lusciousness that awaits the garden.
We are on the cusp of the gardening year. The risk of frost is just below the horizon and the beneficence of the forthcoming warmth is just beginning to poke through the detritus of winter. Winter is gone. The lusciousness of summer awaits. We are in springtime.