The sombre beauty of winter is passing, with the Ides of March nearly upon us there is a feeling of expectation in the air; as we wait for spring, the monochrome landscape of winter will soon pass. Nothing in life is for sure, despite the assurances of a dry week by the weather forecasters. The old garden is holding its head up in readiness for the Spring Equinox. Somewhere, Dearest read that order is a high energy state, therefore she says we should not feel shame in feeling weary at the end of the day.
At long last, the lawns have dried out and the weekly mowing has begun. The daffodils dance in the wind, the tiny unassuming cyclamen are in full flower in shady corners and the ducks have all paired up.
Wesley, who is the only person who, amongst us all is able to trap moles, is still convalescing from his hip operation. He told me he expected that they were running riot; how right he was, the pest environmental man Tim had to be called. Moles, along with clothes moths, rabbits, grey squirrels, foxes who steal up stealthily at night and pick out our ducks, along with badgers who dig up the lawn in their search for worms. Not to forget herons who catch our fish and of course the slugs and snails – oh goodness me, what a battle a gardener’s life is!
Dearest Mother and I took the day off to go junking; this is Mother’s favourite pastime. We went to the Antique Fair at Shepton Mallet, where we spent what seemed to me hours and hours. I got fed up; being so close to the ground, people kept treading on me. At all events, Mother had a lovely day and despite her saying she wouldn’t buy anything, of course she weakened!
In the evening we watched the dog show Crufts on TV. I am not surprised the Pekingese didn’t win, he was not nearly as beautiful as I!
From the Song of Solomon come the lovely lines: “For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land”