This time last week, a snow storm was hitting the southern coast of the UK. Heavy snow, blown on forceful winds brought many Sussex roads to a sliding chaotic halt. Vehicles were abandoned or drivers slept in their cars overnight, whilst police and gritting lorries battled through traffic and blizzards in the dark of night. Over the next two days the counties roads and travellers slowly regained their usual composure and the local papers had a headline to use.Only a few days before, Spring had been a hot topic of gossip. Gardeners debated when to plant seeds and open up greenhouses, naturalists counted frog-spawn in ponds and compared butterfly emergence dates.
Today, a Monday, all is damp and temperatures mild. Rain showers fall and fade and fall again, skies remain grey. The forecast for the ongoing week is much the same.
A few poetic lines this morning came to mind:
A soft zinc sky, fading to white. Leaden roofs and dripping gutters.
Dodge the drips, bow the head,
squint up at the calling rooks subdued in the trees,
shake away water running off coat-sleeves.
Car door handles and bicycle seats are wet.
Station and bus stop benches are wet.
The rain will not last forever, it can't. One day we must wake to sunshine. There is always a day sometime around now, this month or next, when the sun is so bright and the day so complete when we wake, that is seems that we missed the start, like coming in late to a TV program and wondering what happened before the first advert's break. By the time we are up and out, the dawn chorus has long since passed; the birds dispersed and engrossed in their secret daily business. In a warm sheltered corner, the bees are already busy in the flowers. The morning mist and cloud has mostly faded away, only a few dewdrops remain on a cobweb and crocus, most claimed by the strengthening sun.