"Bluebirds flying..."

"I wanna see the sunshine after the rain;
  I wanna see bluebirds flying over the mountains again."

Last week was dank, damp, and dreary. A permanent milky whiteness hung thickly over the fields, waiting to be burnt off by a sun which never came out for more than half an hour a day - if we were lucky. Occasionally we had a little rain (though nothing like enough to hold off the threatened hose-pipe ban), but even on the days when there was none at all, a general murk of moisture hung in the air which dampened everything and everyone. It hung in little droplets on the trees, and settled in a silver mist over the grass; and it got inside me, and slowed my body down to such an extent that for a whole week I functioned at the pace of a sickly snail...

But every weather has its plus sides, if only you can find them, and depressing, illness-inducing dampness is no exception. As I came back from church on my mobility scooter, the delicate scent of wet grape hyacinths rose to greet me. It took me back twenty years!

And of course, the dampness didn't last. I wouldn't live in a country that had a climate for all the jewels in Christendom. Give me changeable weather any time!
On the very day that I wrote to a friend, crying out for sun, the sun came. Unfortunately, I was so excited by this sudden change that I behaved rather foolishly, and managed to contract both sunstroke and a chill at the same time. This combined to give me the curious and decidedly unpleasant sensation of being on ship in a slightly choppy sea, and I was unable to maintain an upright position during the whole of the second half of the evening; even walking down our short corridor resulted in the kind of clutching at furniture more often seen on a ferry crossing the English channel. However, I am all restored to health this morning, and ready to enjoy the rest of the weekend (hopefully in a more sensible, and slightly less theatrical manner...)

"The flowers appear on the earth"

 "...for behold, the winter is past;
     the rain is over and gone.
  The flowers appear on the earth,
     the time of singing has come...

 Arise, my love, my beautiful one,
      and come away.
 O my dove, in the clefts of the rock,
      in the crannies of the cliff,
 let me see your face,
      let me hear your voice,
                                                    for your voice is sweet,
                                                         and your face is lovely."
                                                              
                                                                  - from the Songs of Solomon

Daffodowndilly

She wore her yellow sunbonnet,

  She wore her greenest gown;

She turned to the southwind

  And curtsied up and down.

She turned to the sunlight

  And shook her yellow head,

And whispered to her neighbour:

  "Winter is dead."

                                        -- A A Milne