As January draws to a close we’re still wrapped in a cocoon of grey spun from wet silvery threads of salty cloud whipped up from a plumbean sea by the breath of Zephyrus. The rain slowly dissolves the coating of salt from the windows to reveal a monochrome landscape highlighted only by a pale yellow wash of grass sloping down to the grey rocks. A bad case of sequential North Atlantic depressions.
On the western horizon there is an ellipse of clear blue sky, edged with brilliant white cloud. Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero! Will there be time to pull on the wellies and the waterproofs and rush down to the vegetable garden to check on the bulbs? No time to finish the coffee, listen to the end of the symphony, there is another band of rain approaching from the south!
As a pale winter sun appears the winter colours begin to glow. The tide wrack is a glistening amber line snaking along the rocks like a discarded boa from a midnight tryst and the siren sush of the waves beckons me to the beach to search for natural curios. However, my inner gardener urges me on across the field, there should be just enough time to see if the snowdrops survived the last gale and discover whether there are enough primroses for a tussie-mussie (a nosegay –tuse meaning knot of flowers and mose referring to the damp moss that was wrapped around the stems to prevent the flowers from drying out).
Alas the primroses are a little wet and weather worn, but given a dry, calm day or so they will fill the sheltered corners of the garden with a promise of spring. As the days begin to lengthen the garden is starting to come to life – the first frilly roundels of aquilegia leaves, the soft bronze fronds of the fennel, spiky tufts of chives and soft green arrows of the buckler-leaf sorrel signal that the winter darkness is coming to an end.