Spring

I’ve finally given in and taken down the Christmas tree. 

One week from Candlemas and the tree was no longer bringing any joy. However, daffodils and hyacinths being brought into the house, fill the heart with hope. On my cycle to work around the river, the snowdrops, lit up by low morning sun, sit like Epiphany fairy lights and black-headed gulls skate on the glassy water’s surface showing just a hint of black behind the eyes - being the first as ever the herald of the change of season. So much life is poised, waiting for the perfect moment to burst forth. 

My eyes dart from one bank to the other, whilst wobbling on the saddle, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive kingfisher or better still, an otter, but today is not the day. Instead blue-tits hop comically up and down stems of naked trees and the nearby great-tit chimes it’s song of spring high across the airwaves. Our resident peregrines, with St Valentine just around the corner, practice their amorous dance ahead of the crowds of binoculars and telescopes joining us for another season of joyful voyeursim. 

In the garden, determined buds force their faces up through the compacted soil whilst blackbirds turn leaves and toss them sharply to one side. Daily walks to the compost heap show that little by little the ground is once again, almost miraculously awakening. 

It's possible that there is snowfall still on the way but my mind flirts daily with the memories of a lush green garden, lazy afternoons that turn into long evenings when anxiety can melt away and time stands still in a glass of wine, if just for a short while.