You know how I always go on about not liking February?
This morning it was clear and sunny, cold but vivid. The stubborn patches of snow that have clung to the north facing sides of the hills up on the ridge have almost gone. You can just see a paler smudge which is the last of the snow on the north side of Moel Arthur, the highest point in this picture.
The sky behind the twisted willow was unbelievably blue.
The very last blooms cling to the witch hazel like shreds of bright tissue paper.
I moved some globe artichokes which I had grown from seed in the autumn. They languished looking very unhappy for a while but today they seemed to have shaken off their uncertainty about their new position and were shining in the sun.
Even the bark of the big sycamore looked strange and beautiful in the clear light.
I wonder how long it will be before the oak trees leaf? I always do this, watching and waiting for signs, longing for spring. Perhaps I should remind myself that in its way that is wishing my life away. Let's just be here now, for now.