Is it always winter?
OK, that's enough now. It has been beautiful and hard work, not quite in equal measure, but just tipping the scale on the side of beauty. But now I have had enough. I want to be able to go out without fear of slipping and sliding on the snow. I want to see green instead of the endless stretch of white and black.
On Wednesday it was sunny and we made it up to the top of the hill. Snow and blue sky is a lovely thing but even so, time for a slightly easier life I think.
When I am cold it is hard to remember how it feels to be warm and when the land is bleak and empty like this it is hard to believe that only last year there was colour and light and warmth and growth. I have been looking back through my photographs. Even last year when it rained so hard for so long, sometimes the sun did shine.
There were primroses.
There were pulmonaria and red tulips and the great fat upsurge of old fashioned peonies.
There were tulips, in the garden and in pots.
There were alliums. I had forgotten.
And in the summer, the meadow flowered.
It will all come again.