An easterly wind blew like a train across this corner of Devon over the last few days. Leaves and small branches sailed high in the air around the lawn, and empty pots which I’d forgotten to put away rolled like uncontrolled wheels into far flowerbeds. It brought with it a bitterly cold blast, the kind which chills every forgotten corner and exposed finger.
I can’t tell you whether or not to be vaccinated – that decision is for you alone. What I can say is that I chose it, and if whatever has been injected into me is an experiment, well - life is pretty much an experiment too, isn’t it?
My February photos are not current, because I haven’t felt in a mood for photography – and I’ve been too busy writing my third book, whose ideas kept me going when I was feeling so bad. All of them, though, were taken in February.
The ‘windy’ photo was taken in February 2017 passing Dartmoor. The snow was 2015 in our garden. The drifts of snowdrops were photographed when we lived in Mid-Devon, in 2014. The little Wren was snapped by my son, but the Robin is mine, and I hope they will bring you a little joy in this most difficult of times.
Next time I write, there will be cherry blossom…
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
- William Shakespeare