January brought us a muddle of weather - from terrifyingly torrential rain that gave our corner of the globe more than it's fair share of a strip wash, leaving devastation behind it; ruining homes, passing out the 'flu, and literally pouring a bucket of freezing water over everybody's once-happy heads - to brilliant, beautifully clean snow, that covered little England like a soft blanket; hiding the neglected lawns of the biting winter season, and anything else that desired to be hidden away for a short time.
February has been a little kinder, but the chilly wind is still biting at innocent noses; the grey sky still casting shadows over any hope of blooming spring.
From where I am, the world does not look fresh, or inviting, or appealing, or any kind of happy. My trips out consist of huddled and hasty walks to the Doctor's Surgery, anxious and rushed whizzes around the Supermarket, and the occasional relaxing browse around a beautiful home-ware or baby store that provide a cozy moments' rest from the racing world outside, allowing me to plan and dream for just a minute.
It's no lie; England looks drab right now, and it could sorely do with a bit of a pick-me-up.
I feel as though my sweet, green country is aching a little right now, not unlike me.
Why is it, that in books and stories and poems, so many authors reflect their character's moods in the weather of their surroundings?
Because nobody ever feels rubbish on a Sunny Day.
Even if the cold wind outside is nibbling at the chubbiest of cheeks, the sun brings smiles; it's a fact.
The day I have birth to my little Seth, I remember peeping through a gap in the blinds from my bed in the Labour & Delivery suite, and seeing a brilliant azure sky, lined with the most beautifully fluffy clouds I had ever seen. It was one of the hardest days I have ever had to live, and ever hope to have to live, but I remember turning to Pete and saying "It's sunny outside today", and letting slip the smallest wincing smile. For I knew, that if the sun could shine in the sky on even the darkest day of my life, there was hope.
For me, the sun shining that day was a miracle; the sunshine that blessed British Mother's Day kept me going for the next few weeks. It was a reminder from somewhere a lot higher than just me, that hope is not lost, even if it's not there inside you right then.
And even though the sky is that terrible murky white that groans the warning of cold rain, brash winds, and longer days of grey, there is hope inside me right now. The sun will shine again. England hasn't lost hope in itself, and nor have I in it. It's been so dull for so long now, it has to brighten up soon - and I'm not just talking about the weather.
There's an empty space inside
Where your heart used to fit
Right inside of Mine.
Grey days are long and make me
Miss your presence right here, and
Fill the spaces that you left behind
In March. When the sun shone, and
Carried me through the rain outside
And the rain in that space that you left.
We're at Eleven now, not long 'til
Twelve; which seems so big.
Three fours, two sixes; ages you'll never reach,
Just years that will go by with me
Just longing for the Sun to
Just fill that space and make me smile for good.
But Sun, you won't come back for now;
I must come to you, a long time and space from
Where I am and you are.
A Year is short, but so, so long. What's in a year?
Four seasons, one Christmas,
Many births, some deaths...
And you next. Your year is almost here.
A place I thought I'd never reach
Without you close, near.
I'll keep counting, bright, beautiful Sun,
Every minute, day, week, season
And yes, year, until counting won't matter
And we'll be together.