The temperature has risen, rain has come and most of the snow has now gone. Even so, I am still thinking about snow.
Near to where I live we have a small wild park, which I like far more than the manicured lawns and formal gardens of the larger park just down the road; so it was to the wild park that I went yesterday to take photos while there was still a lot of snow around, and still the chance of more to come. Continue reading “going off piste”
It was Candlemas yesterday and an utterly glorious day. Sadly, a fine Candlemas is supposed to mean there’s still more winter to come. Which probably means it’s as likely to be snow as rain that provides the required liquid for “February fill dyke”.
Today has certainly brought more rain than snow – there was sleet first thing, and then the constant mizzle that isn’t worth getting an umbrella out for, so you end up damp spirited as well as wet.
Still, we do have snowrops – Candlemas Bells – even if we don’t have snow flakes at the moment.
Try and track them as they bifurcate, diverge… Others interrupt, approaching from a different, contradictory perspective. Some are brighter, some less so. Some are more established, carry more weight; others taper into nothing. Impossible to keep track of all of them.
This being England, we never really know whether the winter will bring snow or floods or just days and days of interminable grey.
I admit I was delighted that Thursday night brought a sprinkling of snow. It was gone within a few hours and, of course, that may be all we have this winter. So, as I was out early enough yesterday morning to take a suitable photo, I will re-post this poem, in case I don’t get another opportunity: Continue reading “just in case”
This morning, the sun is shining and the sun is clear. It’s a little windy, but most people would think it was a perfect day to wrap up warm and go for a walk. Here I am, though, sitting at my computer updating my blog with a picture taken earlier in the week.
It was a couple of days ago and it was the first real snow I’ve seen this season. Those wonderful, slow, downy flakes that fall when Mother Carey shakes up her feather mattress. Continue reading “persuasion”
I’m currently taking a poetry class where many of the students are from overseas. They know England from their reading – many have studied English Literature – but this is their first personal experience.
Knowing the country and its culture as well as they do, it must feel like a sort of home-coming. It certainly provokes such delightful situations as when one asked about the flowers on the secretary’s desk: “Are those daffodils? Like Wordsworth’s daffodils?” Continue reading “clichés and home-comings”