"This is the day..."

"This is the day which the LORD hath made;

we will rejoice and be glad in it."                             - Psalm 118: 24

I don't know about you, but I think that a Leap Day is terribly exciting, even when nothing special happens. Every second of every hour feels like a present, to be celebrated and rejoiced in with uplifted hands; for it is a reminder that every day we live, in truth, is a gift of grace...

We went out on a drive yesterday, and I saw lots of encouraging signs of Spring: a diddy-wee brown calf lying curled up next to its mother; a tractor sowing seed in the middle of a ploughed field; a crow flying over head with a great long twig for its nest clamped firmly in its beak; and a whole lot of lambs gambolling and frisking about, as though they simply couldn't contain their joy at being alive.
Even a short walk down our lane brings ample proof that the season is turning. The daffodils, whose tightly furled buds have been tantalising us for weeks past, are finally coming out in triumph, and the line of dancing yellow trumpets looks like a string of gaily-clad heralds proclaiming the arrival of their Queen.

But despite all this, I'm not sure that Winter has quite given up. It hangs on by its fingertips, every now and then throwing out a long icy tenticle of chilly weather, as if it would lay claim to the full forty days given it by Candlemas/Groundhog day...

Fair Maids of February

The snow has melted away, but the ground is still dotted here and there with clumps and swathes of white, as the fair maids of February enjoy their hour of glory. They always remind me of my grandmother, who was I think particularly fond of these delicate harbingers of spring; and I share her delight at the sight of these pearly white jewels with their short green stems, who venture out so bravely in the cold to give us hope and remind us that winter never lasts forever.
My grandmother was a keen watercolourist, especially of flowers, and come January/February, her painting table would always contain at least one little vase of snowdrops, from which we would receive painted images wishing us much love and joy. As I went around the garden the other day, picking one snowdrop here, and a couple there (so that no clump should end up looking too bare), I thought of her, and echoed her life's refrain: Te Deum!

-8˚

This is the temperature the car thermometer registered when my father drove off to work this morning. Of course, I realise that compared to what Eastern Europe is going through it is a mere pittance, but it feels pretty darn cold to us!
Still, it always brings out the bird life. A female bullfinch came hopping round the patio this morning - the first time I've seen one all winter - and three robins have been occupying the same territory with hardly a scuffle between them, which is more than can be said for the starlings. Is it impossible for two starlings to eat from the same food dish without having stand-up fights every three seconds? And always accompanied by that un-earthly screeching that sounds as though the Doctor's Tardis is landing.

Last year, when the winter went on and on and the snow hung around for weeks on end, I began to dream.
I dreamt of blue seas and bluer skies; of daisies and irises and masses of tumbling roses; of tropical lemons and pink-rendered houses, and donkeys giving rides on yellow sands; and I dreamt of a sun shining hot and strong, creating dazzling sparkles on the sea below...

Meanwhile, back in reality, the sky continued to be heavy and overcast, the sun carried on being weak and thin, the snow still lay thick on the frozen ground, and life was generally murky and depressing. So I decided to make a collage.

It was a pretty big collage, made of two A3 sheets taped together (it had to be large enough to fit in all my requirements and still look like a plausible landscape), and it took me at least a month to finish it. I kept running out of deep-blue sky, and had to cadge travel-magazines from obliging friends and relatives.

By the time I did finish it, I had become so immersed in my fantasy-world that I felt as though I really had just got back from an exotic holiday; and when I finally looked up from my completed picture, I found the snow had melted away, and spring had arrived. My Summer Dream had created for me a Wrinkle in Time...