What a beautiful day. As the Daily Express was talking of weather most dreadful for a few weeks I was waiting for an inevitable spoiler of glorious spring to come.
I remember writing last year about how September throws up some glorious days that either delude us into thinking we have an extended summer, or leave us whining for the summer that, in fact, never was.
February is a strange one though. There are some cold, dull and wet days, as is the norm. The month also has the capability of producing some pleasant afternoons that remind us of spring, and in fact, give or take 40 days, could be described as spring. Rather than making one feel wistful, it pours a much more hopeful cup for most. After all, the weather, or at least the temperature, will generally get better.
Humans are strange creatures, I’ve often spoken of my love for autumn, and others insist that summer is their only happiness. It does make me wonder if we really place too much of our happiness in elements. Certainly a dangerous thing to do in these parts.
Anyway, a reminder of spring (that cleverly conceals much of its ugliness too) has been most welcome on my walk back home from town today.