February weather should not come as any surprise and the more savvy of us and those who can afford it, will escape to warmer climes for at least a short respite if not a longer time until Spring puts in an appearance. However, I have not been so fortunate, and I fondly thought that my move to East Anglia a few months ago would give me the benefit of milder weather. I had not considered the possibility of easterly winds sweeping in from the North Sea, having originated in the freezing wastes of northern Europe and beyond.
It’s not so much the cold as the continuous grey sky over several days with vague freezing drizzle that brings acute depression. Any attempt to begin tidying the garden as an excuse just to get out of the house is thwarted by trying to work a fork into solid ground, and so tools are quickly returned to the shed.
I suppose it ought really to provide time for writing, and to some extent it does, given the beauty of some winter scenes.
With billowed breath and crunch of crystal snow
I venture forth into a wintered scene,
And brave the bite of frost and winds that blow
Small flurries over paths and frozen stream.
The woods stand silent; everything is still,
Where creatures lie deep burrowed from the cold.
Too soon my body starts to feel the chill.
I wonder if perhaps I was too bold
In choosing to step out at such a time.
But drawn by sunlight, flooding golden rays
Across smooth fields and close packed woods of pine,
I stand enthralled by light and life. I gaze
Upon the beauty of this land at rest
And realise how much we all are blessed..