Winter into spring

About this time of year I start getting excited about spring and wax lyrical about things I’ve seen and heard.

    Frog however always says lugubriously, ‘False dawn. There’s plenty more winter to come.’

    ‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘You’re probably right, but that’s what spring is. Two steps forward and one step back. You have to enjoy what you can while you can.’

    A bit like life really.

    So here’s my week (and a half), good and bad.

Friday

Two days after I wrote the previous post and when I was still feeling good we went for another of our magical walks along the coast.

The sea had the translucency of recycled glass.

Ellie didn't care about that. She was more interested in tracking the movements of small mammals in the undergrowth.

Catkins jiggled in the silent woods . . .

. . . their buttery yellow echoed by toadstools hiding on an ivy-covered tree-stump.

Out in the open again, gorse flamed against the dead landscape.

Tree skeletons clung to the cliffs.

Thursday

Six days later however, winter was getting to me.
    I felt numb, inhuman. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t write – and without writing I find it hard to believe in anything.
    I sat in a field with the dog and tried to do my affirmations. I tried to list the things I had to look forward to. I shed a few tears. I prayed for help.

    On my way back I saw my first celandine of the year, nestling in a tiny patch of wood. I hadn’t been to that wood for a while as it involves a scramble down a steep bank which hurts my bad knee. I felt as if I’d been led to it, as if it was the answer to my prayer.

Saturday

On Saturday I slumped again.

    I went with Ellie to our local National Trust park and walked off piste, making my way through gates marked ‘Private’. (I'm with William and his gang of outlaws in the books by Richmal Crompton: part of the fun of walks is flouting rules.)

    I followed Ellie across a gravel ridge in the swollen river and sat on ‘my’ island, buffeted by wind, my mind as churned up as the water.

The view from 'my' island - a tiny patch of land in the middle of the river which I visit when water-levels permit

On the way back to the mainland one of my feet slipped off the gravel into deep water, soaking the inside of my boot. I squelched back to the car, avoiding a quagmire by cutting my way through thickets of brambles. (I always carry secateurs with me for just such occasions.)

    

I wondered if it was Brexit as well as winter that was bringing me down, so that evening Frog put our European flag up at half-mast. We’ve only flown it once before as we didn’t want to be divisive, but we decided that to express sorrow now was OK.

Sunday

That night I slept heavily until 5.30am when I woke with a start after an intense dream where I’d cried and told the story of my life at an inappropriate time and place (as I saw it).
    I felt like me again and after breakfast, after I’d been out to photograph the flag, I had the idea for this post.