It’s been a grey, cold day here. One of those really unfriendly days, lacking any sort of charm. No crisp sunlight, not even the silvery kiss of freshly fallen snow. Just a lifeless sludge of a day.
It’s hard to think when the season and the weather are both plumbing new depths of anti-socialness that there will ever be an upturn, that the sun will break through with its brassy face and life will begin the cycle all over again.
Have a down payment from me, a splash of a frantic purple growing out of the most inhospitable crack in the sandstone of Chester’s city walls. It will be there, died back and shrivelled but just waiting for the right moment, the daylight unfolding and stretching against the winter darkness, bringing that little extra burst of warmth that’s the starting gun for the whole cycle to start over again.