Yesterday was a deceitful day, one of those when you start believing again that the seasons have changed, that spring is here. It dawned bright and clear, the sun climbing into a luminous blue sky, streaming through the windows and heating the house. In the garden the daffodils danced and blackbirds sang and courted. Up on the Magog Downs the sky said, ‘Spring’, and the bitter wind said, ‘Not yet’. But the signs of spring persisted: the first tentative green shoots of cowslips were pushing through the rough sward; the blackthorns were candyfloss balls of white against their neighbours; and skylarks soared up singing and chased each other following their mating urges.
Today: wind, rain and a leaden sky. Yesterday was a deceitful day.