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The season’s skipped a beat. Somewhere between C

The season’s skipped a beat. Somewhere between Ciara and Dennis the snowdrops gave way to an unapologetic creep of cheer from the crocus and daffodils. Colour, thickly spread, and even the camellias keen to get on and double up their efforts. The march of the monochrome soon to be out paced by a much louder quick step of verve. The butter knife analogy in full flow.

The Spotify playlist belted out Simon and Garfunkl

The Spotify playlist belted out Simon and Garfunkle’s ‘Slip slidin’ away.’ Maybe they too were resigned to the soupy mud of February.

Even with the buffeting, the morning chorus contin

Even with the buffeting, the morning chorus continues to chirrup. Unmuffled and persistent even with a backdrop of building crescendos. Undaunted by the thick laminate of mud and carrying on regardless.

The ten hour power cut was played out with cards b

The ten hour power cut was played out with cards by candlelight, but even the frenetic speed of racing demon was out paced by the weather outside. A new year always comes with the ‘clean slate’ ‘fresh canvas’ analogy, but the past six weeks have been nothing but a relentless drubbing. Maybe why snowdrops and crocus deserve their pedestal. Illuminating the dank as they do.

‘Usually.’ Best not applied to February, or at

‘Usually.’ Best not applied to February, or at least this one.

The camellias are literally arms outstretched in F

The camellias are literally arms outstretched in February, a pink enveloping froth. Far more effusive with their love than the single stem roses doing the rounds.

There’s been a lot of talk of romance and exuber

There’s been a lot of talk of romance and exuberance. It’s been a good time to plant the roses after all. @joshua_sparkes , in favour of creating the cracks up a mountainside conditions to make them grow. A bed of gravel, with a handful of bio char is his notion of showing a rose love, coaxing it to send its roots down in search of water. By not pandering to it, the rose will be stronger. A gardener’s take on the love harmony for plants.....

It was the snowdrops looking forwards, but an exub

It was the snowdrops looking forwards, but an exuberance of flailing arms to the side. @joshua_sparkes in mid flow concocting a list of roses of the crazy wild growth habit sort. A scramble of romance and exuberance curated with an orchestral manoeuvre of the arms. His theory of roots even more energised:

Francis E lester
Ethel
Albertine
Cecile Brunner
Ispahan
Madame Alfred Carriere
Gipsy Boy
Rosa Multiflora
Blush Rambler
Lykkefund
Pauls Himalyan Musk
Felicite et Pepeture
Cardinal de Richelieu
Charles de Milles
Blanche Moreau
Pomifera duplex
Banksia lutea
Reine des Violettes
Laure Davoust

The science ran out mid explanation last night, tr

The science ran out mid explanation last night, trying to explain why the moon was at least triple its usual size and why a walk in the dark to the hillside it was perched on wasn’t going to make it within touching distance. Besides, there was still much thrashing around outside. Too much, even in the company of an ethereal beauty.

Full moons always seem to come with an either/or s

Full moons always seem to come with an either/or selection of names. Last nights either a snow or a storm moon depending on its fit. Ciara made a impassioned plea for the latter, illuminating the debris doing laps outside.
A crocus from Friday - pre jangle.

The wind had already picked up 8pm last night, the

The wind had already picked up 8pm last night, the full motorway wind speed analogy explained to the youngest, ricocheting around outside. Along with yesterday’s Kokedama moss ball wrappings created by @joshua_sparkes. Last seen gently hung on the hazel archway, but their whereabouts this morning, anyone’s guess.

The oak had dropped a limb. Essentially, where the

The oak had dropped a limb. Essentially, where the conversation started on ‘live’ yesterday. Something they do; either because they’re diseased or as a prop to balance themselves. But it wasn’t long before it meandered in the direction of roses. Of the wild and scrambling sort, @joshua_sparkes ‘ great love - well, after Bridget and banana bread. A Kiftsgate rose is about to be set loose up a tree, tumbling blooms redefining its shape. Vita Sackville-West sacrificed the apple trees in much the same way - doubling up the bloomage with spring blossom and summer scent and a canopy hanging back down to the ground. There’s a whole list of roses that have gone in and with it a palpable excitement of what comes next.

A few warm days and Spring almost seems tangible.

A few warm days and Spring almost seems tangible. The crocus have repaid the debt in ever increasing clusters, and the hemlines of hedges neatly underpinned with snowdrops. It’s the time for The Wind in the Willows Mole type stance, a scrabbling of doing and readying. Of tidying away and, if the mole had been a gardener, mulching. The brussels sprouts have surpassed themselves in the kitchen garden. More potent than anything the daphne or hamamelis can produce. Spring or February’s version of Spring comes heady scented. The full spectrum.

Yellow has quietly threaded itself in amongst the

Yellow has quietly threaded itself in amongst the green (or as quietly as yellow ever will). Swelling ranks and daily advances. Add to this a gamble of deer yesterday. A neatly executed vault clearing the bonnet of the car by several inches. There’s never just one either. Three of them disappearing at pace into the forest and with them a new found sense of being ‘alert to the seasons.’

Not early, just the usual early. And with it, the

Not early, just the usual early. And with it, the colour slowly creeping in. A silvery grey fuzz has erupted on the pussy willow, and the camellias are their usual burn a hole in the landscape pink.

It’s a stealth velvet with a slow creep that has

It’s a stealth velvet with a slow creep that has covered an entire bank. Knuckles of mud and ripples of sinewy roots softened by the moss and lichen. An earlier version of Spring green in February.

Saturday into Sunday into Monday. Skipping to the

Saturday into Sunday into Monday. Skipping to the beat of the season.

The starlings have started to murmur. A flutter of

The starlings have started to murmur. A flutter of wing beat shape shifting over the hedgerows. The leaf litter is similarly on the move with twitchings of life. There’s an impatience to February, a time lapse of growth sped up at pace. Skip a day outside and there’s whole entire clumps that just weren’t there before.

There are many shades of haze and yesterday’s wa

There are many shades of haze and yesterday’s was all but swallowed up by other sort. But yesterday was January and today’s February. Onwards.

January as a month is best viewed in numbers. Not

January as a month is best viewed in numbers. Not the 31 days of weather, that’s changeable or undecided at best, but the couple of minutes extra of light bookmarking each day. A few minutes, that together add up to almost an hour of longer and lighter by the end of the month. February, we’re more than ready for you.

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