Like many residents of the temperate regions of the Northern Hemisphere, I am not a fan of January. The cold, the wet, the gloom; the days when the sun has barely risen before it sets; the absence of wine to lift the spirits. But this year I sailed through January with barely a gripe. The exercise habit that I had formed last Autumn, together with an overwhelming urge to “nest”, that saw the house being deep-cleaned and furniture rearranged saw me through the month, and I very much enjoyed my first sip of wine (or was it honey infused rum?) on Feb 1. But far from feeling on the home straight towards spring, February has felt tough. Too much rain to accomplish much in the garden; an incident involving a cat, a stone floor and my right knee ruled out exercise; and wonderful photos of South East Asian jungle and beaches from my travelling son have made February feel darker and soggier and longer than January. Spring has felt a long way off.
But then a few days ago the sun shone, and I headed out into the garden with my camera and binoculars to see what – if any – signs of life were emerging. And to my joy, there were plenty!
The first daffodils were in flower.
Crocuses (more than last year) were popping up in the grass.
One of the plum trees, that was still decidedly barren the last time I had walked past it had burst into blossom.
The snowdrops were still in flower and providing a food source for a browsing bee.
As I pottered around, I picked up the song of 16 species of bird including that harbinger of spring, the Skylark.
And later in the day, as I was chopping veg in the kitchen, I noticed that it was 5.30pm, and not yet dark.
No matter how long the tunnel may seem, there will always be light at the end of it.