It was the grimiest of grimy days today. A glowering grey sky and a heaviness in the air that hurt to walk through. You could tell February had woken up all ‘yessss, job done’, only to remember it had a whole extra 24 hours to hand in this year. Rubbish, said February. I am so done with this.
But soft, what light beyond the winter breaks:
The spring flowers are coming out in force.
I decided today, hurtling through the countryside at a thrilling speed, that spring flowers are my favourite. You can find the scrubbiest-looking patch of grass, littered and dog-messed and overgrown, and you can bet that a whole team of crocuses is muscling its way through it, ready to burst into grand technicolour come March. Snowdrops look like they belong in a lady’s chamber, all pearly white and softly drooping, but they spring up in corners and random sloping verges and in dirty little places your average tulip wouldn’t look at twice. And daffodils, oh, don’t get me started on daffodils. A flower that cheerful shouldn’t be allowed out.
Spring flowers grow in the margins. I find this rather touching. Choose your own analogy here.
Like, perhaps –
your life is just waiting to be beautiful
you can do an awful lot of loveliness in a tiny place
a little madness in the spring is wholesome for just about anybody.
You’re welcome, said February.