Still, despite Storm Caira and a fair old dousing of rain we have many shooting hints of the colour to come. Primulas and primroses, hellebores and budding roses, the signs are all there. Buds and breaking bulbs. Magnolias are nearly out, the daffs already showing alongside the crocus and snowdrops. It makes you wonder…
Or maybe it drives you to poetry…
I dug out a scarf this weekend to fend off the cold,
Zebra striped and smelling of history,
Almost made redundant by melting ice caps and plastic gyres.
February left in a sulk some years ago
Taking Frosty and Snowball on an endless vacation,
Saying you’ll miss me.
I don’t remember trying to stop him. I
Liked the newly coloured garden.
I still called the daffs and tulips ‘early’
But now I wonder if they understand time any more.
They just come when they want and sometimes don’t go,
Like Uncle Thingy at New Year drinks
Who sat on the carpet and moaned about the future.
If the clematis and roses don’t ever stop, there’s
No past and no future,
Just a continuous now.
No seasons to enjoy, no future to moan about.
If we can’t see the end and don’t know the beginning, how can we know
Where we are?
Endless, we just let them slip away, lost in repetition,
Same old same new.
Maybe Uncle Thingy was a sage, not the bane that mum called him.
I wrapped the scarf twice round my neck to keep the wind off. Small pleasures
Taken while I remember how.
What do you think Dog?