It’s around November time when I begin to think about the ‘vastness’ of the winter, ahead.
I let my mind play over the run up to Christmas, which, although increasingly dark, is brightened by the colourful lights and the spirit of the season.
My mental journey continues through New Year, which always seems an anti-climax, and on into the wasteland of January. I can feel a certain tension as I think about the cold and the days of rain and overcast skies that offer little light to lift the heart.
But that long dark month is good for testing one’s resolve, and getting more done than is strictly necessary… to set the scene for the year ahead.
And then something wonderful happens… My memory of that reverie is replaced with the pristine silver-whiteness of a hedgerow filled with the real thing. We are…
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