Thursday, 4 April 2013

The signpost cut like a crucifix doesn't help

Good grief, the view looks bleak. Even I have to admit it, and I am a skilled practitioner in the ways of wilful blindness: always looking on the bright side and seeing the best of everything.

But on our walk today, the wind laughingly slaps my face and spits snow in my eyes. This winter's long lingering - the sunless, joyless, grey, bringing its partner in crime, a hellish bitter cold - they have become almighty oppressive to a woman's spirit.

It has brought out my complaining twinge rotten; on these endlessly leaden days my own mouth has bored me witless; I am surprised my ears have not left home, listening to my mardy whining of When Will This Bastard Weather Improve? while the eyes stare miserably ahead watching the shivering blackbirds stare forlornly back.

Yes, I know there are compensations in the twigs and the pebbles, and believe me I have to find them, but I am looking forward to Spring with a fierce determination. When that first stretch of warm reviving sunshine falls, I shall throw off these five layers of woollen jumpers and the thermal vest with a coffee stain down the front, and I shall dance in slingback sandals, jangle my fake sparkle and wear clothes that make my daughters clasp their fingers to their eyes. The spirit surely needs it.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Yes indeed! Bog off Winter.