We drag ourselves through the gloom of winter, our steps splashing through pooled water and splattering mud. The clouds crowd round us and drape us in grey, our winter mourning. Sometimes, chilling mists might creep along the roads, wind around the naked branches of trees and envelop chimneys and roof tops. The world becomes a mystery but only for a while. Those crisp, cold days we long for are few and act as the merest gulp of air before we sink into the murk again.
But when the shoots start to poke their thin fingers through the sodden ground and the days no longer last for moments it is then you might start to dream of summer days, and, as if to confirm your hope, the sun might burst open your inward turned mind and send an unexpected warmth onto your upturned face. A reminder. Be patient. Wait. I will come again and perhaps for longer next time.
Time up.
I don't know what you think but this is just seems god awful writing tonight. I'm in a sad frame of mind and I just can't get my head round ideas tonight.
Inspiration was the sun which was warm for the first time this winter.
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I would really welcome constructive comments or perhaps even some inspiration. To be honest , I would settle for some encouragement.