‘A cold coming we had of it.
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’
Taken out of context, slightly, as TS Eliot’s poem refers to the depths of December snow, detailing the Three Kings’ journey towards 25th December, but the words apt for such a long and wet and, frankly, miserable January. February hasn’t started much better either, though I was able to contemplate setting foot outside without my waterproof jacket, for an hour or so yesterday (I live in the South West of the UK, would not have tried that had I still lived in Manchester).
What thoughts move you forward to Spring?