The Thaw
Temperatures lift here in the flat lands and with the rains of last night most of the snow has been wash deep into the fenland soil, now we watch the winds rushing across the dark garden of East Anglia with reeds and rushes riding every blustery breath nature sends while forgotten lavender shivers every silver seed head.
No dark skies to greet us this morning, no sky of grey so full of winters carpet, only blue fresh sky with those long slender sun lit white clouds that ride high in the wind, a sign of sunshine maybe on this day of rest, a day to dry our sodden land and wipe clear the mess winter left behind after frozen parties that bright clear stars did attend well into each night.
For this bead hermit it will be a long warm day at my torch watching my birds feed at their swinging feeders and listen I will to the old conifer trees talking above my barn, groaning to each other like old folk of the fen putting world to right, the fire I'll feed and bead ideas will play around in my head as if riding some wonderful carousel, off and on they will jump while I try to catch them, no easy Sunday for this bead maker.
I llike that.
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