Our front garden is in a delightful state of decay and dormancy. The stepover apple trees are fast asleep. The whiskers of the rose have survived the snow, frost, wind and rain. The hydrangea petals are slowly turning into lace. Delicate seed pods could be mistaken for an insect wing snagged on the tip of the acer branch. Hard frosts of late have slowed the allium and daffodil march. But there are tiny colour pops of promise. The crab apples are a brilliant red that the blackbirds have been merrily gobbling having stripped the orange pyracantha berries, whilst the witch hazel teases with a taster of what's to come.