They're calling it 'The Big Freeze', but I don't know what's wrong with 'winter'. This is what winter looked like when I was little. January seems to me like the essence of winter. After the enforced jolliness and franticness of Christmas we come back to what it's all about - stillness, nothing happening, the year holding it's breath before the wheel cranks up again.
The birds aren't holding their breath though, the blackbirds are leaping about with their skirts spread, trying to drive each other away from the delights of the round orange thing - a home made mix of crushed-up fat balls, chopped raisins and dried mealworms. Mine, mine, mine!
But what's this? A cheeky interloper - we never see starlings in our garden, but this one must have been patrolling nearby, and can't believe his luck...
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The birds aren't holding their breath though, the blackbirds are leaping about with their skirts spread, trying to drive each other away from the delights of the round orange thing - a home made mix of crushed-up fat balls, chopped raisins and dried mealworms. Mine, mine, mine!
But what's this? A cheeky interloper - we never see starlings in our garden, but this one must have been patrolling nearby, and can't believe his luck...
“The simplicity of winter has a deep moral. The return of nature, after such a career of splendor and prodigality, to habits so simple and austere, is not lost either upon the head or the heart. It is the philosopher coming back from the banquet and the wine to a cup of water and a crust of bread.”
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