This is left over from when we had all the snow the other month. I'm posting it after what was an almost balmy weekend. Yesterday afternoon we saw several (perhaps middle-aged) men taking their soft-topped and open-topped treasures out for the first sunny run of the season. A little bit of me did look slightly longingly at the bright yellow Caterham 7 (although can you imagine me trying to get in and out of one of those?). Walking the dog around the park, we noticed plenty of green shoots on the trees, and the daffodils and crocuses were blooming.
I love the winter and the cold, but spring is still welcome. When I wake in the morning now, I'm not in complete darkness, and there's a little daylight left on the way home in the evening. Growing light and lifting spirits contrast harshly with the events of the last nine days. I haven't commented here because I don't know what to say. I suppose that when things in the past cast such long and such deep shadows, it can be difficult to tell between what's distant and fading and what's still here, now, lurking. Not that anyone has wanted to look too closely.
But, here is spring.