just a thought

Even though pandemic regulations don’t allow us to do half the things we might like to do at the moment, I don’t think I can be the only one who’s still finding it hard to find time to do everything that’s on my “to do” list.

I certainly intended to write two blog posts this weekend, as well as preparing several business-related articles and a stack of emails ready for the coming week.
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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.


to every thing there is a season

We’ve had plenty of grey and wet weather recently, but very little that has been really wintery. On Tuesday afternoon it was utterly glorious, so I sneaked out for a walk in the park. I tried to make the most of the time by also making phone calls, including one to my aged mother, who reminded me that it was Candlemas. Perhaps I should have known: the snowdrops – also known as Candlemas bells – had already been in full flower for a week or more.

I am extraordinarily fortunate in that my mother is a fount of country lore and traditions. The older she gets, the more she seems to remember of things she learned as a child.
Continue reading “to every thing there is a season”


snowdrops and old  tombstone

empty house
dust on the dressing table
cobwebs in her hair brush



It’s half a lifetime since I spent so long in the UK at this time of year, and I’m revelling in the early signs of spring.

(The real natural signs, that is, not forced daffodils that have been in the shops since before Christmas, nor the bargain strawberries imported from Spain, however fresh and sweet they are.)

Now the local daffs are promising and will soon be brightening all the gardens, motorway verges and railway embankments. (I imagine a great golden wave that starts in the south west and works its way slowly up to the far north of Scotland.)

For the moment, though, there are snowdrops; more, perhaps, than I have ever seen in my life. I’m currently learning to use a new camera, so there will probably be more snowdrop photos than ever before, too.

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