When you get to 90 you do begin to wonder if this is the last January you will see. Don't get me wrong - this is not a morbid thought - when you get to 90 you also live each day as it comes and enjoy it. Any thoughts of the future, certainly in my case, are not at all morbid.
But I can't say I am sorry to say 'good-bye' to January and 'hello' to February tomorrow. February is a short month and it does mean that it is not long to March and the real beginning of Spring. Yes I know it is daft to think like this. It sounds as though I give a personality to each month; as though poor old January is now sitting there saying 'ah well that's me done for another year and I haven't managed a good old 'kelching' of snow like I used to do.' (kelching is a Lincolnshire dialect word I think - it certainly (in my mind)) describes exactly what I mean.
We always used to say 'February fill-dyke' - I wonder if he will (I think of him as a he). One year since I have lived here he did bring us ten days of good, old-fashioned, deep snow. The talk of the town as though if was unheard of and how dare February be so unfeeling.
They always say if March comes in like a lion he goes out like a lamb (and vice-versa) which implies that perhaps they have a discussion beforehand (who's going to be the lion this year mate?)
Anyhow enough of this nonsense. What's the weather like where you are this morning? Here it is teasing. When the rookies went over (they get earlier every day and before long they will be long gone when I draw back the curtains) dawn had broken with the most beautiful sky and there was a gale blowing. I am sure the rooks knew exactly where they were aiming for but the wind had other ideas and they were being blown back and forth and trying hard to beat it. As Ronald Blythe used to say like a lot of 'black rags' in the sky.
By the time I came to sit here my window was covered with rainspots and the clothes line had a row of glistening beads of water as the sun came out again. And the valerian has (I swear) grown another inch overnight. Interesting what Derek had to say about the valerian's tap root - although the gardener cut it down to the ground in Autumn (Valerian is one of his pet hates)it is up and happily spreading along under the hedge, well-sheltered from the frost.
Well, I have just looked at the time - twelve o'clock. Time for my roast pork Sunday dinner (brought as usual by my carer) to go into the microwave. See you tomorrow. If you have time and want a lift to your spirits do go to Si's yesterdays post (Careering through nature on my sidebar).